by Janene Wood
“It's early days,” said Marc, trying to sound positive. “Now you're here to offer your advice, I'm sure we'll have a breakthrough any minute.”
His tone was flippant, but Guardians had a unique mindset and he would value Jake’s input. He also trusted him to have his back, which was no small thing. They were brothers, for better or worse. Even Kate's return from the dead, while momentous, was not so earth shattering as to force him to reconsider the life he had chosen. He was meant to be a Guardian and he embraced his destiny wholeheartedly. Everything that went before, including his despair over losing Kate and the purposeless drifting that ensued, was simply the foundation he had needed to lay before building this new life. Of nothing else was he so certain, not even his belief in a future with her. Though it troubled him to entertain the possibility, he couldn't help wondering whether she had already served her purpose in his life. What if she was just a means to an end – this end – and the Almighty never intended them to be together any longer than those few months in Africa?
He immediately dismissed this line of thought as being both too painful and too confronting. His God was a god of love: steadfast and merciful; not capricious and cruel. Marc had to believe He wouldn’t have brought her back to him only to take her away again.
A deep rumbling emanated from somewhere far below; probably a train passing beneath them on the underground.
“Are you okay, Strider?” asked Rick. “You look like you ate something that didn't agree with you.”
Distracted by his thoughts, Marc gave a start and adjusted his expression. “No, I'm good,” he assured his friends. “Just a bit tired, I guess. It's been a long couple of days.”
Jake gave him a beady look, but didn't call him on it.
It didn't take long to catch up on the events of the last few days. Marc’s replacement, who arrived in Paris just before he left, was settling in well and had been followed this morning by a new Guardian to replace Jake. Myrren and Skye were training as hard as ever...
The subterranean rumbling hadn't abated. It seemed to be getting louder, and impossibly, closer. As the floor began to shake, it was becoming increasingly evident a train wasn't responsible for what they were experiencing. The most likely explanation–
“Earthquake!” yelled a frightened voice, triggering an immediate uprising of panicked patrons and the beginning of a mass exodus. People began pushing and shoving their way toward the exit, screaming and shouting and swearing at each other to get out of the way.
Concerned but not panicked, the three Guardians also began moving forward, though they stayed at the back of the crowd to ensure everyone else reached safety before making their own exit. Jake and Marc exchanged a look, but there was nothing much they could do except watch and help anyone injured in the stampede.
The subterranean rumble was rapidly becoming a roar. As the pub cleared, Marc urged Rick to start moving forward. The next second, there was an ear-splitting screech of splintering wood and the floor behind them exploded upwards. Shards of shattered timber board flew through the air, along with chunks of rock and concrete and a thick cloud of dust. Marc stumbled sideways and collapsed, his leg lanced by a thick, six-inch-long splinter of wood. Jake fell backward over a chair that hadn’t been there a moment ago. Bellows staggered but stayed on his feet, turning automatically to face the source of the explosion.
A huge, jagged-edged void had appeared in the floor and an enormous, lizard-like creature was climbing upward toward the light. Only a small portion of its slimy, elongated body protruded from the hole, but the sight was enough to give a grown man nightmares. It had the head of a komodo dragon, but its tiny red eyes were disturbingly intelligent, taking in the state of the bar room with one quick sweep of its head. For half a second, it seemed disappointed to find the place so deserted, but it quickly turned its attention to the remaining occupants.
Bellows, closest to the void, froze at the sight of the creature. Strider yelled, “Run, Rick!” but by the time his voice penetrated the younger man's dazed consciousness, it was too late. With a slash of its reptilian claw, it split Bellows' belly open from one side to the other, like a knife slicing through a ripe mango. A look of horror on his face, the young Guardian fell to his knees, grasping his middle and trying ineffectually to keep his insides from spilling out onto the floor in front of him. Blood and intestines slithered through his fingers as he looked down in horror.
Jake was quickly back on his feet, drawing his silver-inlaid sword from the sheath on his back. He edged past Rick, who was beyond his help and glided swiftly toward the creature, watching it carefully as he prepared to attack. Bodhi gave him both speed and strength and in one fluid motion he sliced cleanly through the armoured skin, bone and sinew of the creature's uppermost limb. Thick, black ichor gushed from the gaping wound and the creature let out an unearthly shriek of rage that could be heard blocks away. The severed limb thudded to the floor and began to break down immediately, slowly liquefying into a foul-smelling, tar-like substance.
The creature bared its teeth and snarled, focusing its unblinking red eyes on Jake and swiping at him with its remaining front claw. Jake's preternatural focus warned him of the attack in plenty of time and he darted out of range. Dancing on the balls of his feet, he waved the sword back and forth in a double-handed death grip while taunting the creature. “Come on, you fucking bastard! Come and get me!”
It lunged at him again, but this time Jake dashed forward, slashed through the tough hide of its upper body and threw himself to one side, rolling out of harm’s way. The creature shrieked again, more in frustration than pain, thought Marc, watching uneasily from where he lay. He feared it would attack again, and keep on attacking until it killed everyone it could find, but it must have weighed the odds and decided they weren't in its favour. Hissing angrily, it abruptly subsided back into the void, leaving behind the foul stench of its breath and the sulphurous tang of demon blood. As a parting gift, it spat a glob of yellow, viscous fluid at Jake, missing him by a hair’s breadth and striking the wall behind him instead. It sizzled and steamed, rapidly eating through a portion of timber paneling.
When he was sure the demon had really gone, Marc turned his attention to his leg, wincing as he pulled the splinter from his thigh. There was copious bleeding at first, but it slowed when he applied pressure to the wound. He didn’t think it had nicked an artery, and climbed to his feet to test his leg's weight-bearing ability, nodding to himself when his initial assessment was confirmed. He edged cautiously closer to the void and looked down into the depths. It was too dark to see anything clearly, but it appeared the creature had moved on.
Jake was kneeling beside Bellows' unmoving body. Muttering a prayer beneath his breath, he closed the young man's eyes and smoothed his features so he didn't appear so utterly terrified. Marc stood back, watching in silence, knowing there was nothing he could do for either one of them. The manner of Rick's death was shocking and brutal, but at least it was quick. A quick death was what they all prayed for when their time came, though hopefully only after many years of service.
Marc limped over to the bar and returned a minute later with a torch.
“What are you thinking?” asked Jake, moving closer.
“I'm thinking we can't let it escape.” Leaning cautiously over the edge of the void, Marc aimed the light downward and examined the sides and base of the pit. The demon was gone, but a trace of silvery slime remained on the sides of the hole. At the very bottom, a stagnant runnel glistened in the torch light. Marc estimated the pit was at least thirty feet deep; an impossible drop for an ordinary man, but not for a Guardian.
Marc gave Jake a brief, questioning look, to which he replied with an equally brief nod. While shocked by Bellows’ death, they were trained to function under the direst of circumstances and to do their duty.
“We'll come back for Rick later.” Assuming they survived another confrontation with the beast. “We can't let it hurt anyone else.”
“And
what exactly is it?” enquired a steely voice both men knew well.
They turned as one, surprised and relieved by the opportune arrival of their fellow shadow-hunter. Myrren was dressed in black leather, from her fingerless gloves to her steel-capped boots; her almost-black hair was pulled back in a severe ponytail, and she was spattered all over with dried blood. The strong smell of demon ichor confirmed she had been hunting already.
“I don't know what you're doing here, Myrren, but I'm glad you are,” said Marc.
Jake nodded his agreement. “We can certainly use your help.”
“It looks like you’ve had an interesting night.” Myrren's eyes swept the room, taking in the upturned furniture and the damage to the floor, before lingering on Bellows’ body. “Oh, no,” she groaned. “Not Rick.” Moving closer, she knelt beside him and stroked his face, allowing tears to run unimpeded down her cheeks.
Strider and Jake watched in silence as she bowed her head. “Brother, may your spirit find peace in the next world. May God's holy light shine upon you always.”
A moment of silence followed during which they all tried to find some measure of acceptance and comfort. It helped to be reminded of the reward awaiting them on the other side, if that should be their fate. By the end of tonight they might all be dead.
Myrren rose to her feet an sniffed the air. “A demon did this?”
Strider replied, “A Chthon.”
She muttered something profane under her breath. “That’s the second one tonight. That I know of.”
“What's gotten into them? This isn't normal behaviour,” said Marc. The way the Chthon attacked them belied everything they knew about the greatest of the earth-bound demons. They were usually the subtlest of demons, much more so than tethers, preferring cunning, guile and manipulation to do their work for them and only resorting to physical force when backed into a corner. That hadn't been the case here.
Just like mature tethers, greater demons could manifest any shape they chose, but they existed independently of binders and humans both, drawing negative energy from any creature they encountered, including other demons. They were visible to mundane humans and often held down jobs, acting, for all intents and purposes, exactly as a human would. Aletes and Guardians could sense their true nature, but only at close quarters, which meant they were rarely identified, let alone confronted. Killing them was notoriously difficult, requiring the combined power of several Alete.
“I don’t know,” said Myrren worriedly. “This sort of activity is completely unprecedented. All I know is–”
“We can figure out why, later,” growled Jake impatiently. “If we're going to do this, we need to go now, before we lose the trail.”
“Jake’s right,” said Marc decisively, moving to the pit. “I'll go first.” He eased himself over the edge until he was hanging by his fingertips, then let go.
The tunnel at the bottom had a clearance of less than six feet, meaning it was going to be an uncomfortable hike. The demon had left a slug-like trail of silvery slime along the wall of the tunnel to indicate its direction, although the other arm of the tunnel was filled with excavated earth and rock, making it obvious which way it had gone.
According to Myrren, an unusual degree of demonic activity near Leicester Square tube station earlier in the evening had resulted in the area being inundated with Alete, who quickly dispatched the ringleaders and scared off the rest. The Chthon must have escaped below ground, and upon hearing the sound of human voices overhead in the Hulking Giant, been unable to resist the temptation to drop by.
The fetid air stank of sewage, sulphur and nasty things that grow in dark, slimy places. Which was the worst smell was a debatable point, one they discussed at length as they sloshed through six inches of liquid filth, if only to take their minds off their objective. They passed several minor offshoots, but the tunnel continued in a more or less straight line, and the slime continued unabated. Marc regretted wearing his favourite pair of boots to work this morning; they would be fit for nothing but land-fill after tonight, after squelching through miles of filth.
“What happens when we catch up to this abomination?” asked Jake after they had been walking for 10 minutes. “I know you're good, Myrren, but do you really think you can take down a greater demon by yourself?”
“I don't know, but I'll give it a go,” she said earnestly. “If you guys can run interference and try to weaken it, that will help.”
“By the way, Jake,' said Marc, “That was great blade-work back there. If you hadn't had Avenger on you, we’d have been in real trouble.”
“Much good it did poor Rick,” said Jake bitterly.
“It wasn't your fault,” said Marc. “You did well to react as fast as you did. After tonight, things will have to change. If the Chthon are on the war path, we need to be properly armed around the clock, and that means qutars as well as schivs, regardless of public sensibilities.”
“Amen to that,” muttered Jake.
Thank God at least one of them had a sword for the upcoming confrontation. It would provide Jake with greater reach, while keeping the demon at arm's length. Marc was armed only with a pair of schivs, but they were like an extension of his own hands. It was unlikely they would get close enough to stick a blade in the demon, but if they could keep it distracted, hopefully Myrren could finish it off.
Strider halted abruptly; the others instantly became more alert.
“What is it?” whispered Myrren, directly behind him.
“The end of the trail.” He aimed the torch ahead, allowing the others to see what he had already noticed, that there was no more silvery slime on the walls of the passage. They were standing at the intersection of a short offshoot tunnel, the end of which veered upwards into a man-made shaft, with an access hole at the top. A rusty, metal ladder was bolted to the slime covered bricks. Green slime, not silver, though there were distinct smudges of silver up the sides of the ladder, as if it had recently been gripped by human hands.
The demon had taken human form.
“Jake and I’ll exit first,” Marc advised Myrren. “Take cover as soon as you get clear of the shaft. Chances are it's already moved out of the immediate vicinity, but if it is still hanging around, we'll distract it while you get ready to do your thing. Are we all clear?”
“Clear,” said Myrren, her trembling voice betraying her nervousness.
“Copy that,” said Jake.
At the top of the ladder, Marc heaved the heavy man-hole cover an inch off the ground so he could slide it out of the way, trying to make as little noise as possible. Keeping low, he slipped out of the hole and into a crouch.
The man-hole was positioned in the middle of a narrow lane, lined on one side by bumper to bumper cars, parked adjacent to a 10-foot-high brick wall. The closest cover was a dumpster on the far side of the lane, opposite the cars. A nearby street lamp cast a bright circle of light; other illumination was provided by a pair of headlights pointing directly at him from a car blocking the lane.
Bounded on the opposite side by a long, low-lying brick building, the lane was far from deserted, hosting an alarming confluence of binders, tethers and humans, engaged in a loud, fiery confrontation. Two of the humans were Alete, but it was the third, non-Alete human, distinguished by a tell-tale shimmer of silver, that Strider was interested in. It was their quarry; he was sure of it.
Strider tensed and prepared himself to go to the aid of the two Alete, who, though outnumbered, were holding their own. For now. As soon as the Chthon made itself known, they would need all the help they could get.
Stir Crazy
Rachel Ross lay on her side of the king-size bed, staring at the clock bedside her, willing time to speed up and the numbers to tick over. Stazia was finally snoring softly beside her, but not wanting to risk waking her, Rachel forced herself to wait another 10 minutes before moving. The enforced wait did, however, give her an opportunity to reflect on the last few days, which were some of the strangest and most disturbing
of her life. And that was saying something.
Yet out of everything that had happened lately, including stepping through the portal in Paris and arriving moments later in Stazia's luxurious apartment on Park Lane, the thing that struck the deepest chord was callously leaving those two Bureau of Justice agents to die. She didn't need medical training to know they were in a bad way, but she also knew that until she properly consolidated her relationship with Stazia, she was in no position to make a fuss about such things; she just had to hope help arrived before it was too late. The role she was playing required a distressing lack of compassion and an excruciating degree of narcissism, both of which were completely alien to her, but her alter-ego cared about no one but herself, so the two agents caught spying on her lover deserved everything they got.
Carefully extracting her arm from beneath Stazia's head, Rachel slowly rolled onto her back and edged away, back to her own side of the bed. She wasn't tired, especially now that Stazia was asleep and she could relax properly. To say Stazia was high maintenance was like saying the sun was hot: a rather superfluous and completely redundant understatement. Rachel had never known anyone so emotionally draining or incredibly needy. If she allowed her attention to lapse even for a second, Stazia would suck the life out of her. But not paying attention was one thing Rachel could never be accused of doing.
The longer they stayed together, the more evident Stazia's emotional insecurity became, and the more she needed shoring up. Which, while exhausting, happened to be exactly what Rachel wanted. At least in theory. She had worked hard over the last months to become everything Stazia could want in a lover and companion and it was finally paying dividends, due in large part to Rachel's policy of refusing to take any shit. Stazia was used to calling the shots, using intimidation and manipulation to get her way, which was undoubtedly why her affairs were all so brief. Her only enduring relationships were those where she resorted to Compulsion, and anyone who had ever been in love could have told her that was cheating.