by Tim Marquitz
She shrugged like she wasn’t interested, but I saw her cast a lightning quick look Rala’s direction, her eyes popping back to me in a flash. “Want to know what I fou—”
I raised a hand to silence her, an ephemeral pulse making the hairs on my arm tingle. “Do you feel that?” Rala seemed to shrink in on herself, her arms wrapping tight about her narrow chest, I growled and followed the vague sense of mystical energy that led me through the door Veronica had strolled through.
“Frank?” Veronica called out over my shoulder, but I kept going, pushing the door aside and slipping into the hallway beyond.
A couple rooms down the hall the trail came to an end. My head swiveled to the door to the left—it’s always the left—its frame emanating wisps of magic, the scent so vague it was clear it was being muffled, but not very well. Veronica and Rala crept up behind me.
“Am I going to regret opening this door?”
Veronica cleared her throat.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” As if I actually expected anything different coming from my ex-wife.
The knob turned easily and the door swung wide, the misty sense of magic only barely growing stronger. Just inside the room lie an old school magical portal like the one Lucifer had built at my house, designed for quick and easy access to a limited number of locations. It was the shuttle of mystical portals. Dark brown/black fluid defined the lines of the pentagram, the gate empowered to operate on its own. Sketched sigils dotted the walls in a way that explained the tiny drifts of magical energy seeping from the room. It was as though a wizard had sneezed out a bunch of wards, the boogery magic landing at random.
“This your work, too?” I asked Veronica, a little surprised at how sloppy it was.
She nodded. “Rala helped.”
Rala slid Chatterbox up so that his face appeared to replace hers. “Only a little.” CB spewed rancid zerbers my direction, dark dots of spit reflected in the magic’s glow.
“While I see the need for the short bus given the combined intellect of the room, what’s the point of it?”
“Rala needs an escape hatch.”
I felt my eyebrow imitate Spock. “For what?”
“Seriously, Frank?” Veronica let out a very pissed sounding sigh. “You damn near got her killed back at the safe house. I want her to have a way out the next time you feel like summoning alien creatures during a firefight. You made her fly away, right through the worst of it without bothering to check if she got out safely. She could have been killed.”
My gaze went to Rala. Coulda, woulda, shoulda. “Look at her; nothing happened.”
She raised an arm, pointing to a couple dark spots, both smaller than quarters. “I did get a little singed—”
“See? She’s fine,” I said.
“And Chatterbox is a fairy princess.”
“Ppuuuurrrrrttttyyyyyy.”
“You’re not helping,” Veronica snapped at the head. “I just don’t want her stuck here waiting on you to save her ass because we all know how that will work out.”
“You sure you’re not part harpy?”
Veronica growled. “Now you’re being mean.” She wrapped an arm around Rala, pulling the girl closer. CB’s eyes snapped to her chest as if they had magnets in them. “Did you drag this poor girl across the universe so she could die here in Old Town?”
“Of course not,” I told her. “I never plan that far ahead.”
Veronica groaned and Rala flashed me a WTF look. Even Chatterbox peeled his gaze from Veronica’s tits to give me a dirty look.
“You’re responsible for her. What part of that do you not get?”
“Fine, I’ll go to the store for diapers and formula.” I glanced over at Rala. “Need to be burped little girl? Shoulder or lap?”
The look on her face was a cross between a rabid skunk taking a shit and Paris Hilton’s sex face.
“You’re an asshole, Frank.”
I was. Had a card and everything, but I couldn’t see my membership benefits being of any interest to Veronica so I raised my hands in surrender. “All right, already. I get it. No more fricasseed dragon wings—”
“Wyvern.”
“Whatever.” The estrogen was getting so deep I was craving chocolate and a Laurell K Hamilton book. I glanced at Rala, peering past Chatterbox’s fuming face. “I’m not trying to get you killed…I promise.”
“Pppiinnnkkkyy ppprroommmisse?”
“Jesus Christ, all of you.” And here I thought my head was killing me earlier. “I’ll fishhook your earhole if it’ll get you to shut the hell up, Chatterbox.”
CB’s lower lip jutted out, the blackened splits like shimmering worms.
I turned on Veronica and growled. “Tell me what you found before you came back to play mama.”
“Not until you apologize.” Her hands slid to her hips, breasts pushed out as far as CB’s lip. She was stonewalling hard.
I’d seen that look far too often to think I would get anywhere with her, so I pulled an Ash. “Okay…I mumble, mumble, mumble. There, I said the words,” I shouted as the ceiling.
“Are you kidding me? That shit didn’t even work in the movie, Frank.”
“Yeah!” Rala jumped in, though I was pretty damn certain she hadn’t even seen Army of Darkness. I couldn’t even get her to watch Beetlejuice, the big scaredy zebra.
“Dddduuuunnn, ddunnnn, ddduuuunnnnnnnnn.”
Chatterbox’s maggots squirmed behind his dark irises when I glared. “Fine!” I said, though it was everything but. They had me outnumbered. I looked at Rala. “I’m sorry I nearly got you killed after saving you and bringing you to Earth where we actually have food and indoor plumbing.” I glanced at Veronica. “I apologize for dumping a truckload of sand in your vagina.” Lastly, I looked to CB. “And you, my dear, dear friend, I’m sorry the only squishy bits you get to play with are in your amputated skull.
“Happy?”
“I know I’m not from here and all, but that really didn’t sound anything like an apology,” Rala glanced up at Veronica, rubbing the side of her face.
Veronica shook her head. “It’s the best we’re going to get, I’m afraid.”
“Ppppeeenniiisss.”
“I’m watching you rotface.” I pointed to my eyes and then to CB, suddenly remembering that Karra could see me through him. For a second, I contemplated blindfolding him but figured that would void the crumbs of goodwill I’d just earned. “Group hug?”
Six eyes glared in unison.
Can’t blame a guy for trying. “So what did you find out?” I asked before we could get sidetracked again. I didn’t want to spend the night talking about romance novels and the vagaries of the latest douche commercial.
Veronica stared at me without speaking, purposely dragging the moment out longer than it needed to be. She wasn’t done taunting me yet, and I could feel my anger lighting my cheeks. She must have seen it, finally giving in.
“I think I found your bogeyman.”
My pulse fluttered. “You think or you have?”
She shrugged. “Well, I couldn’t get close enough to confirm, but I picked up a good tip from a reliable source.” Veronica lifted her chin a little. “Seems Hobbs has been here in Old Town the entire time. I have an address.”
I grinned, rubbing my hands together. There’s no better way to put heartbreak behind you than to break something else, preferably on someone else. Thanks to Veronica’s info, it was time to share the misery.
Thirteen
As it turned out, I wasn’t really all that surprised when Veronica told me who the bad guy was, and it made me feel kind of stupid I hadn’t thought of it on my own.
Hobbs was a vampire.
Both the bloodsuckers and furballs had a price on my head since I screwed up Gabriel’s plans to immigrate them to Heaven in God’s absence. I’d already had the wolves kick in my door because I’d screwed their pooch, so to speak, and they were desperate to get back at me. While Hobbs’ agenda might not be directly related to that, there wa
s no doubt it was feeding into the idea that he could stake claim to Old Town and piss on any connections I might have to it. While Baalth might not have been all buddy-buddy with me out in public, there was no mistaking how much I got away with in Old Town. The fact that Baalth had been there at all made it clear there was something to be gained by taking over the place. Unfortunately for them, that put them directly in my crosshairs. I don’t share well.
It was one thing to be pissed at me for messing up the family vacation to Heaven, but it was something completely different to come at me and lay claim to what should be rightfully mine. They didn’t have the testicular fortitude to stand up to Baalth when he was here, and I’d killed that old bastard, so I’d earned Old Town through blood. It was time to spill some more to get that point across.
Not quite dawn yet, I’d followed Veronica’s directions to the opposite end of Old Town, a place affectionately referred to as the Devil’s Asshole thanks to a smelting plant nestled in the nearby mountain side. The fumes and gray-black fog billowed up from stubby smokestacks, and the air was always filled with the charred scent of fire and melted metal. It didn’t smell anything like Lucifer’s ass, but try and explain that to the locals. Regardless, the name stuck.
Hobbs couldn’t have found a better place to camp out in Old Town than there, though admittedly, I felt a little self-conscious about the title. I was the new Devil, which meant the asshole they were now referring to was mine. There was simply no way the rose and spring scents that fluttered out of my butt were anywhere near as rank as what lingered in the air. If Chatterbox were here, he would agree. Well, he’d probably stick his tongue out and plug his nose with the tip, but he’d agree this place was worse.
And unlike my ass, this one had hemorrhoids.
As I neared the location, I spotted the mercenaries Veronica said were watching the place. A broad, three-story warehouse type building engulfed the block over from where I lurked on a nearby roof, a twelve-foot fence enclosing the perimeter. Razor wire ran in coils across the top. Men paced back and forth down the long sidewalks that ran the length of the building. Their AK-47s were in hand rather than slung across their shoulders. They might not have known I was coming, but they were expecting trouble. I spied nearly ten guys circling the yard, but the vampires either had a lot of faith in their wannabe Renfields or they figured everyone who had a beef with them would come knocking at the front door. There were only four guys on the roof, each hovering near a different corner, which was pretty stupid given the supernatural activity around El Paseo.
The old me would have guessed it was a trap, given how few guards there were, but the new me didn’t care about petty stuff like that. I’d wiped the floor with their goons already and sprinkling a couple vampires on top wouldn’t sway the odds their way. If they were planning a surprise for me inside, it’d better be something useful like garters, short skirts, and some mood music because I was gonna be all up in their shit like a Bang Bros production of Anal Adventurer. There would be glove.
But even as excited as I was to jump down there and start kicking ass, a lifetime of paranoia made me hesitant. It didn’t make any sense to barge in through the front door no matter how many welcome mats they set out for me. Fortunately, magic is all about creativity, and I’m all about being imaginative. Well, I probably stole half my ideas from cartoons, but fuck it, who was gonna know?
I backed all the way the far end of the building I was on and made ready, willing my magic to cast a shadow over me. Still dark out, most of the mercenaries eyeballing the ground, the darkness would camouflage me easily enough. I’d have gone for invisibility, but I wasn’t sure I could pull that off. It was way more than a little sleight of hand, but really that was all I needed. Black clouds whirling around me, I ran, holding my breath. If this didn’t work, I was in for a very uncomfortable landing. At the edge of the building, I clenched my teeth and jumped, pushing a burst of magic into it all while not giving myself any time to second guess my decision.
Then I was airborne.
The ground hurtled past me, one big, dark blur as I flew above, hurtling between the buildings. Right then was when I realized I could have imagined a bridge and walked across. That set my ass to puckering. The rooftop loomed as I flew toward it. None of the mercs up top had seen me yet, though I realized I hadn’t thought the maneuver all the way through.
The landing would be a bitch.
I had envisioned this graceful leap, me dropping flatfooted on the edge of the building like a ninja, doing a cartwheel from there while throwing knives into the spines of the four men, dropping them without a sound. I am, however, not Jackie Chan.
I hit the roof like a herd of drunken hippos, clearing the edge by a good fifteen feet, landing nowhere near where I’d intended. There was a roll at the end, but it was hardly the acrobatic move I was going for. It was more like the Harlem Shake. Picture every Jackass movie stunt rolled into one. That was me.
A darkened skylight and a satellite dish did their best to slow me down, but I tore right through them as I tumbled headlong across the roof. They didn’t do much except make me grateful I wasn’t competing in the Olympics. I could see the disappointment on the judges’ faces.
I did, however, manage to do one thing right. All the mercs spun toward me as I crashed and immediately headed my direction, guns leading the way and voices quiet. To them, it must have looked as if a tumbleweed of smog had rolled onto the roof and wiped out their TV equipment. No time to play, I dispersed the cloud and uncoiled a line of razored energy. The point flew from my hand, spearing the first of the mercenaries through the temple. He went stiff as it burst through the other side, the tendril of magic whipping about in a circle, slamming into the second guard’s head before he could react. He fell right after the first, the other two panicking in an effort to avoid the gleaming tracer.
The third guard caught the spear between his eyes as he snapped about to judge its distance. Only the last of them had any success in escaping, and all that was relative. The merc ducked as the beam came at him. He didn’t quite make it. Rather than puncture clean through his head like it had the others, the beam cleaved a trough from his forehead all the way to the back of his skull. Smoke spilled from the Grand Canyon in his head, and he dropped to the roof with a meaty whump.
I glanced over my handiwork as I listened for sounds of alarm, but there was nothing. As loud as I thought I had been, three stories up, it seemed as if none of the mercenaries below had heard me. There was no telling if anyone on the floor below me had heard the stampeded of my arrival, but I didn’t see any point in worrying about it. I was already there.
Rather than risk the stairwell, which was almost certainly defended somehow, I went over and peeked through the broken skylight. My eyes, already adjusted the darkness, surveyed the inside of the small room. It was a storage room of some kind, shelves running the length of three walls, a plain door installed in the last. With no sounds below making me believe I’d been heard, I dropped down through the busted skylight and into the building. At the door, I listened for a minute without hearing anything before turning the knob and easing the door open.
I came out of the closet ready for action.
Or something like that.
The room I’d entered was also empty. The stale scent of dust met me the moment the door swung open, the smell stirred up by the sudden motion. The room stretched on for what appeared to be the entire top floor of the building; one long rectangle of nothing. While the place once housed office cubicles, there was nothing left but the makeshift beams that piped electrical wires from the roof to the various workstations. Their empty black sockets stared at me while I crept across the open space. I cut a swath across the gray floor, my footsteps clearly visible in the layers of dust that confirmed no one had been on that level for many years, which I guess made some sort of sense. The vampires would want some kind of extra space between them and sunlight. While it didn’t kill them like it did in the movies, most vamps wer
e severely limited in broad daylight.
I made a circuit of the room until I finally found steps leading downward. They were separate from the exit stairwell, which I had left alone at my back at the opposite end of the room. A quick glance told me they were wooden, each step bowed upward slightly at the center. I wasn’t exactly a heavyweight like Jorn, but at two hundred-fifty pounds, I wasn’t exactly a delicate flower either. There was no way down the stairs without making noise. I sighed. In for penny, in for a pound. Rather than waste time trying to creep, I decided on the more direct route. A quick breath to get ready, I yanked the gun out of my waistband—mostly because I missed using it—and jumped down the stairs without touching a single one.
A blurry shape darted my way the second I appeared, but it flew past me with a wretched howl, claws cleaving empty air. I hit the ground, bent my knees, and rolled, coming back up with my gun raised. The thing was a vampire grunt—an undead shock trooper.
Vampires come in two distinct types: Regals and the soulless. The real vampires, like Katon, were ones that had been intentionally created by another vampire. After being infected, the original vamp had transferred some small portion of their blood, their power, into the victim, which allowed the transformation to run its course. The soulless, however, were more like dread fiends. They were the abortions of the vampire world. Without the benefit of the blood transfer from a willing Regal, the virus that rebuilt the infected body considered the brain an impediment to vampiric impulses and hollowed it out, keeping only what was necessary to function on an instinctual level.
The one guarding the stairs was the latter.
“Missed me, missed me,” I told the vamp as it whipped about for a second try, my finger squeezing the trigger, “Now you’ve gotta…uh, eat lead.” While the joke missed worse than the vamp had, my shot was dead on. It ripped into its jaw. Teeth and bone fragments exploded as the bullet ripped through its face, leaving a mangled mess of dripping meat and pieces of teeth behind. It gurgled its fury and thrashed about trying to get its legs to cooperate.