Heaven's Door (Quincy Harker, Demon Hunter Book 6)

by John G. Hartness

  She stuck her jaw out, and I could see her trying to hold her shit together. So it was stupid. That’s good. I didn’t really like killing pretty twenty-something girls, but I would if I had to.

  “He told me it was a spell to make the trees and grass grow.”

  “Did he have a name?”

  “He said his name was Jones.”

  “Of course he did. And he was a powerful wizard and knew you were a powerful witch, and you both wanted to make the grass grow and the earth bountiful, right?”

  A single tear escaped, and she dashed it away with the back of her hand. “Yeah, that’s all I wanted to do—make the trees and grass healthier. Is that so bad?”

  “I think this is what we mean when we talk about unintended consequences, you moron. You made the shit grow, alright. But you also made it sentient and very, very pissed off. And then I had to come deal with it, and that meant I set a lot shit on fire, including me. I don’t like being set on fire. It makes me grumpy.”

  “What are you going to do to me?” She was openly terrified now, so a large part of my job was done. The rest of the hippies collectively looked like they were about to crap their pants, too, so I doubted any of them were going to be playing around with magic in the foreseeable future. Still, I didn’t have much success getting people to stop using magic once they started. It was usually a bell you couldn’t un-ring.

  Still, she didn’t kill anyone. Not even me, despite my best efforts to get myself killed. And she did try to do things right. “Here’s the deal, kid. You’re an idiot. A kind-hearted idiot, but an idiot nonetheless. And that’s often the most dangerous type because you see the best in everybody. So here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to give me your spell book, and I’m going to give you the name of someone to contact. She can hook you up with someone to teach you, and she’ll give you the name of someone good, and mostly harmless. But if I hear of you stepping off the path of light once, just a little bit, I will find you, and I will wear your skin for a winter coat. Do you understand me?”

  She went even paler and nodded. I wouldn’t really make a coat out of her skin, of course. Human skin is way too thin for that. Doesn’t even really keep the rain off all that well. But she didn’t know that.

  I turned in a circle, making myself glow a little for added effect. “And the rest of you, get haircuts. Get jobs. Fucking go sell weed at Phish concerts for all I care, but quick fucking around with magic. You’re going to get somebody killed, and it’s probably going to be you. Now get out of here.” They all bolted, except for the girl.

  I motioned to the ground, and we both sat. I waved Becks over. “This is Detective Rebecca Gail Flynn of the Charlotte-Mecklenburg Police Department and Homeland Security. What you did today could very easily be considered a supernatural terrorist event, and we could have you sent to a pocket dimension that is kinda like Gitmo, but with more monsters. But we’re not going to do that. What we’re going to do is take a statement from you where you describe the man who gave you the spell, and then we’re going to go through your spell book. Anything in there that could be dangerous, I’m going to destroy. You can keep all your blessings, protection spells, and wards, but anything that could be used offensively is outta there. You good with that?”

  “Do I have a choice?” Some of her old fire was back, and while I liked seeing it in young people, I preferred to see it from a distance. A great distance.

  “Of course you have a choice,” Flynn replied. “You can do this, or we can send you to the magical prison dimension Agent Harker just described.”

  “Or I can lobotomize the magic out of your brain. That’s always an option. But it’s your call, so you decide. But you need to decide right now.”

  She closed her eyes for a minute, obviously swallowed the part of her that wanted to call us fascist pigs, and handed me her backpack. I poked around in there and brought out a battered copy of Alexander Schictling’s seminal work on magic for beginners, Spells for Complete Idiots. Never has a book been more truthfully advertised, or more a pain in my ass because of it. Too bad Schictling turned himself into a toad and got run over by an ice cream truck because I really wanted to strangle him every time some kid handed me a copy of his book.

  I knew right where to go for the stuff she had no business screwing around with, so I set to ripping out pages with gusto. Each page I tore out, I tossed into the air, and it burst into flames. Ashes fluttered all around me as I tore out summoning spells, binding spells, love potion recipes, and battle magic spells. I left her the illusions, the astral projection stuff, and the harmless environmental manipulation stuff, although it was really a lot easier to grow tomatoes with water, fertilizer, and patience than with magic.

  By the time I was done with the book, Becks had a solid description of the guy who gave her the spell. Unfortunately, it boiled down to “white guy between thirty-five and sixty wearing a baseball cap somewhere between five-six and six-two, and maybe around one-eighty to two-twenty.” In other words, completely average white dude of middle age and unremarkable size. Everything I ever wanted in an eyewitness description.

  I grabbed a pen out of the girl’s backpack and scribbled a name in the inside front cover. I wrote a phone number underneath it. “This is the number to a woman named Christy. She’s a bartender at a place called Mort’s. It’s owned by a demon, but Christy knows everyone in the city with an ounce of supernatural power, and she’s good people. Tell her I sent you her way and that you need a light witch mentor. And if you fuck with her, have your affairs in order. She’s a lot less forgiving than I am.”

  “Whatever got into your head to make you think this shitshow was a good idea today, get it out of there, and fast. A lot of people could have died because you believed the wrong dude. This magic stuff is serious business, and if you fuck it up, people die. Do you get that?” Flynn asked.

  The girl nodded.

  “Good,” Becks continued. “Now we’re going to go try to find this son of a bitch and keep him from destroying our city.”

  “That’s going to be harder than it looks.” I looked up, and Glory stood over us, her arms crossed and a really irritated look on her face.

  “What’s up, Glory?” I asked.

  “While you two have been busy washing each other’s backs and playing kindergarten teacher, our friendly neighborhood serial murderer has left another pair of bodies for us. He’s almost at the number of dead Nephilim he needs to open the portal to Hell. So if you’re quite finished being guidance counselors and playing house, come with me to the latest crime scene. That is, if you’re still interested in saving the world.”

  Chapter 11

  Flynn and I followed a pissed off angel into the church, and I wish that were the beginning of a bad joke. It looked like something out of a horror movie, with blood almost literally painting the front of the sanctuary. We were there before the crime scene techs, before the bright lights and evidence cards, before the bustle that dulls the edge of even the most horrific scenes. The metallic smell of blood almost bowled me over, with the horrible underlying miasma of death and shit and puke and sweat and pain and fear that accompanies horrific murders. I didn’t need my Sight to know that the energy of this place was corrupted, and it would take a lot of work to put the church back right.

  The sanctuary was a big room, all Gothic arches and rose windows. My rubber soles moved almost silently across the floor, and I could hear the occasional drip-drip of blood falling to the stone. The only light in the place was one chandelier over the pulpit and a rack of prayer candles on either side of the main door, with the odd streetlight peeking in through the stained glass and casting crazy-quilt colors all around the room. Every single candle in the rack blazed brightly, casting a flickering yellow glow that made long dancing shadows across the walls. It made me feel like the killer stopped on the way out the door to light fresh candles everywhere, in a mockery of prayer.

  Everything about the room felt like a message, a mocking
Zodiac letter to the cops, a nasty letter from Jack the Ripper to investigators, a blood-soaked “you can’t touch me” from the killer to me, addressed very specifically by writing my name in blood all over the walls of the sanctuary. “HARKER” shrieked at me from every window, a crimson-turning-brown message that I couldn’t miss if I were blind.

  The room was dim, but I could make out the shape of a body lying on the communion table as if in state. The robes marked him as a priest, and the glimmer of golden light around him in my Sight told me he was Nephilim. He was gutted, his body ripped open and spread across the table, with a lake of blood pooling on the floor beneath the table.

  The splintered light from the chandelier and the windows cast long shattered shadows all over the room as the light fixture swung. I looked up to see what was making it move, then stopped dead as I realized what I was looking at.

  “Tell me that’s not…”

  “I wish I could,” Glory said.

  I pulled a small flashlight from my pocket and shone a light up at the grotesque display hanging from the ceiling. A young boy, no more than twelve, hung from the chandelier, wearing nothing but his white underpants splattered red with his own blood. His feet were bound at the ankles with a nail jammed through them for dramatic effect. His arms were spread wide and lashed to the curved arms of the light, then a huge nail jammed through each palm. A wicked slash marked one side, but the cause of death was obviously the fact that his throat was cut from ear to ear. Everything else was just window dressing, a message not just for us, but for Glory and her bosses, too. And the piece de resistance was on the boy’s head, where a battered Atlanta Braves ball cap was tacked to his head with at least two dozen nails, hammered into the child’s skull to make a modern-day crown of thorns. I lowered my light from the mockery of the crucifixion and looked back at Flynn.

  “Becks, you shouldn’t be in here.”

  “Why, because it’s gross? Because it’s an affront to everything anyone holds holy? I get it, Harker. I don’t think I did until right this second, but I get it now. This motherfucker wants to send a message? Well it’s received, loud and goddamn clear. He wants to mock God? He thinks using faith as the model for his butchery is going to what? Rattle me? Scare me? Fuck that. Fuck him, and if you think this is doing anything more than pissing me off and making me stronger in my faith, then fuck you, too.” The vehemence in her voice was matched by the fire in her eyes, and I backed off.

  “That’s not really what I mean, but I’m glad that your faith is strong because you’re going to need it to beat this bastard. I meant that you should go call this in before we step in something and fuck up the crime scene. I don’t want to have to fight a Cambion, a demon, and Paul from the crime lab.”

  It didn’t work. Didn’t lighten the mood at all. Flynn just looked at me and nodded. “You’re right,” she said. “I’ll go call it in. Look around quickly for anything magical, then meet me outside.”

  “Are we going to talk about that before you go?” Glory asked, pointing the walls.

  “I was really trying to think of a way not to,” I said. “I need to not be the focus of the police investigation, and I don’t know how to do that without destroying evidence.”

  “So destroy the evidence,” Glory said.

  Flynn and I whipped our heads around. “Why not?” the angel asked. “You know the police can’t do anything to stop these killings. You also know there will only be one more Nephilim murdered, then a human, then either the Cambion will sacrifice itself or kill one of its own ilk to open the portal for Orobas, and then your world is probably destroyed.”

  “Unless we stop it,” Flynn said.

  “We’ll stop it,” I said.

  “I hope you’re right. I like this world, and most days I like some of its inhabitants,” Glory replied.

  “Thanks.” I gave her a wry look.

  “You’re welcome. But you need to remember that Orobas has learned a lot in seven years, and he didn’t like you much to begin with. After you spoiled his plan last time, he’s had nothing but time to study you and find a way to beat you. It won’t be as easy this time.”

  “Last time cost me one of my best friends,” I reminded her.

  “That’s going to feel like chump change when he’s through with you this time, Harker. Do you not get it?” Glory’s voice rose as she went on. “He doesn’t just want to win, he doesn’t just want to open a portal to Hell anymore, he wants to destroy you and everything you’ve ever cared about.”

  “Then he’s going to have to come heavy because I’ve learned a lot in seven years, too. And this time I know what I’m up against, and I might not be ready, but I’m a lot more prepared than I was last time. Becks, get outside. Call this in, and I’ll give the place a quick scan to see if there’s anything mystical that can lead us to the Cambion.”

  “Done. You’ve got about five minutes before the first units get here. Be somewhere else before that happens.” Flynn turned around and walked out the main entrance.

  I turned to Glory. “You think Orobas is going to kill her, don’t you?”

  “It would be the best way to incapacitate you. Especially now that you’ve admitted your feelings about her.”

  “It’s been a long time, Glory. I didn’t think I could feel like this again. After what happened the last time…”

  “I know. Luke told me.”

  “You talk to my uncle?” Every time I think I can’t possibly be surprised anymore, the universe reminds me that it is very large and very fucking weird. By doing something like having my guardian angel casually mention that she had a conversation with my uncle, Dracula.

  “Not often. He doesn’t like to be reminded that there is an afterlife. I’m honestly not sure if it’s because he doesn’t want to believe, or if he’s afraid of where he’ll end up.”

  “Does it really work that way?” I asked.

  “You know I’m not going to tell you that, not even if I could.”

  “I know, but it’s worth a shot,” I replied with a little grin. “But what did Luke say?”

  “He said that when Anna died—”

  “Was murdered,” I corrected. I could still feel her in my arms. Seventy years gone, and I felt it like it was yesterday. Kneeling in the snow, the cold seeping through my damp pants, holding Anna’s body as her blood and life poured out onto the ground around us. Then looking up at the Nazi who stood there with his pistol still smoking.

  He grinned at me, then said, “You should thank me, friend. Now there’s one less Jewess stinking up the city.”

  That particular son of a bitch learned what his own shit smelled like from the inside when I took his own knife and opened him up from bellybutton to backbone. I hacked him almost in half, then literally ripped his head off. All I remembered after that was a lot of red on a lot of snow, and a lot of black uniforms torn to pieces before me. I have a flash of me holding a leg in one hand and an arm in the other, and I’m pretty sure they didn’t start the day on the same people. I spent the rest of the war racking up a body count rivaling that of the Black Plague and drinking my way through Europe.

  “It was a bad time,” I said. “I lost myself for a long time, and I don’t know what I would have done if there hadn’t been a ready supply of Nazis to kill. If anything happens to Flynn, you should probably find a way to teleport me to a nice quiet terrorist camp, or a pirate ship in the Pacific. Because I don’t know if there are enough bad guys in America for me to work through my anger on.”

  “Why don’t we just work on not letting anything happen to her?” Glory said. I looked at her, and for the first time in our relationship, I really understood what she was there for. She watched over me to keep me from getting killed, sure, but she was also a failsafe. A last resort in case I went off the deep end. It made sense. I wasn’t exactly known for my restraint, and my temper was obviously a work in progress. Glory was there to take me out if she had to, and I had no doubt that she would be more than capable if push came to
shove.

  “Yeah, that would be better for everybody,” I agreed.

  Everything okay in there? I hear sirens coming. Becks sent me a message through our mental link. She didn’t use that much, preferring to keep some part of her head private at least. I felt the concern resonate through our connection and sent her a quick reassuring pulse of feeling.

  Bending to the task at hand, I opened my Sight again, this time spreading my net wide and peered around the room. The intensity of the residual emotion almost bowled me over, most of it centered on the bodies of the boy and the priest on the communion table. Their souls were gone, but without the tatters of energy that I saw at the parking lot murder.

  “They moved on, at least,” I said, continuing my look around.

  “Even Orobas himself can’t touch the soul of a priest and an innocent in the House of the Lord,” Glory said. “No creature under Heaven is that powerful. This man, and the child with him, were with God before the monster that did this had a chance to even reach for them.” The angel’s voice was cold, as if she knew how little comfort she had to give.

  “There’s nothing here,” I said. I dropped my Sight. “This son of a bitch is good. If we’re going to catch him before he completes his ritual, either he’s got to make a mistake, or we’re going to have to get lucky.”

  “Both things that seem more and more unlikely with every body we find,” Glory said. “The police are here. You need to get outside before they find you. I’m going to be out of contact for a few hours. Try not to do anything egregiously stupid.”

  “No promises,” I said, then ran for a side door. I stopped by the door and turned back to look at the sanctuary. “She’s right,” I muttered. I pulled in my will and focused my attention on the walls, on my name splattered across the gray stone in crimson essence. “Erasa,” I said, releasing my energy and watching the blood vanish, breaking up into dust and falling to the floor.

  I pushed out of the door into the night, ready to move around the front of the church and pretend to be surprised when I re-entered that House of God turned House of Horrors.