In the House of the Wicked rc-5

by Thomas E. Sniegoski

  Something huge roared close by. The car shuddered viciously, as if struck by a savage hand-or claw-and lurched to a sudden stop. Remy reached behind the seat and grabbed the tire iron from Ashley.

  “Stay in the car,” he ordered, jumping out into the darkness. Clutching the tire iron, he willed the fire from inside to infuse the metal with the divine power of Heaven.

  But the fire did not come.

  Like his tracking senses, he found the power of his unearthly birthright strangely silent. Remy could feel it there, but it was weak, deathly still.

  A snuffling from the darkness before him sent him leaping backward toward the front of the car. He stood in the beam of light from the single headlight, tire iron ready, waiting. He could hear the shadow beast growl, the sound of its weighty footfalls from somewhere beyond the headlight.

  Something moved in the darkness, and Ashley started to scream again. Bending down in a crouch, muscles tensed, Remy waited for the attack that he was sure would come.

  He didn’t have long to wait.

  The monster lunged into the light with a roar, an enormous piece of darkness dislodging itself from the environment of solid black. It was bearlike in appearance, only twice as large.

  Remy swung the iron with all the strength he could muster, connecting with the monster’s lower jaw with a sickening thud. The shadow bear cried out, rearing back, surprised by the sudden explosion of pain. It retreated into the concealing dark beyond the car’s light to reassess its prey. Remy stayed in a crouch, paying attention to the senses he still had, ready for the next attack.

  The beast came at him from the side this time, attempting to evade the headlight’s beam. Its jaws were open, showing teeth that looked like jagged pieces of coal as it made a move to grab Remy’s leg and drag him into the forever dark.

  Instincts honed in battle were not diminished by his confrontation with Deacon, and Remy jumped back as the monster’s jaws snapped shut on the air where his thigh had been. Taking aim where one of the shadow animal’s eyes glistened like a tiny pool of oil, the Seraphim drove the tire iron down, plunging the blunted end used to pop off hubcaps into the socket.

  The shadow bear screamed, thrashing its big, blocky head from side to side in an attempt to dislodge the protruding metal cross.

  Remy ran around to the side of the car, pulling open the door and extending his hand to Ashley. “Come on,” he said. “This is our chance.”

  He hoped he was right, for as he had fought with the beast, he had begun to sense something. There was a tickling at the base of his skull, akin to the sensation he would often feel when traveling in his more angelic guise from one location to another.

  Remy hoped that meant the passage to his motel room was close.

  Ashley took his hand, bounding from the back of the vehicle. The two ran side by side as the shadow beast roared its fury from somewhere behind them.

  There came a smashing sound, and Remy chanced a quick look behind him. It sounded as though the beast was taking out its anger on the automobile, pounding on the vintage vehicle as it roared in the darkness. He watched as the single headlight went out, shattered by a swat from the formidable clawed paws of the monster he had partially blinded.

  Ashley turned, as well, a gasp escaping her as the light was extinguished and they were plunged into darkness.

  Remy gave her hand a yank, pulling her toward an area where the odd fluttering sensation at the base of his neck seemed to be stronger. He hoped that this was indeed what he thought it might be: his weakened senses attempting to return to strength, and not just the beginning of a migraine.

  The shadow beast’s roar echoed through the darkness, and now they could hear the sound of its angry pursuit.

  “Keep running,” Remy ordered, tugging at her hand. He wanted to stop, to feel the air, to see where the weird sensation was the strongest, but there wasn’t time. If they stopped, they were most assuredly dead.

  All they could do was run; run as fast as they could through the darkness, and hope for that little bit of luck stored up from the last time a heads-up penny had been found on the sidewalk or the break in a wishbone went in his favor.

  The sensation was most definitely stronger this way.

  Remy pulled the girl roughly to the right and almost paid a hefty price. Ashley stumbled, pitching forward, but she managed to catch herself.

  The entrance to his hotel was nearby, behind a curtain of shadow. But where, exactly?

  The animal roared so close that he felt the air vibrate on the flesh of his neck, but they were close, as well.

  But not close enough.

  The horror of Ashley’s hold on his hand being savagely ripped away was more than he could stand. One second the pressure and comfort of her presence was there, and the next he was left holding nothing as he turned pathetically in the shadows to find her.

  “No!” Remy screamed, dredging up what little divine power he could muster. His hands began to glow like the burner on an old electric stove, providing him with just enough light to see what he’d feared.

  The great beast made from solid darkness hunched over its prey, clawing and biting at the thrashing figure it had pinned to the ground.

  With no thought for his own well-being, Remy sprang across the expanse of shadow, colliding with the monster with enough force to knock it from its perch. The beast’s roars joined with a sound that at first he did not recognize, but soon realized came from himself.

  Remy was screaming.

  Screaming in rage and sadness, screaming for the violence he now intended to inflict and for what he was incapable of doing.

  He’d made Ashley’s mother a promise, and now he saw through bleary, tear-filled eyes that he was about to be made a liar.

  The bear swiped at him with claws of ebony, and he managed to jump back and away, even though he could no longer summon his wings. It was as if the beast could sense something from this adversary, that there might be a chance that this one could be dangerous, and perhaps it should show caution.

  It could show all the caution it wanted, but there wasn’t anything that could keep the enraged Remy from his foe now.

  His hands were glowing a pulsing orange, and he could see the monster averting its single good eye from the burning light. Remy dodged quickly into the beast’s blind spot and lunged at the foul animal.

  The bear was swinging toward him, turning its good eye to the attack when Remy latched on. With all his might he threw his arms around the beast’s thick, muscular neck, shoving his face into the rough, dank-smelling fur. And as the monster began to thrash wildly, Remy pressed his burning hands to the shadow flesh, coaxing the fire within him.

  The animal became frantic with pain as its fur and flesh began to burn. Remy continued to hold tight, turning his face away from the noxious smoke.

  The shadow beast’s cries were pathetic as it spun madly in a circle, attempting to fling away the one that caused it so much pain, but the angel held fast. A small part of him actually felt sorry for the stupid animal, but another, far stronger part wanted nothing more than to revel in its cries and to see this hellish beast vanquished.

  To see his enemy dead.

  But the fire was suddenly gone; Remy could feel the divine power falling away and dragging behind it into the abyss any strength that he had left.

  The shadow beast flailed madly again and Remy was flung through the darkness, waiting for the inevitable impact, which came with bone-jarring intensity as he landed on his back.

  He knew he had to rise, but no matter how hard his brain attempted to communicate this, his limbs and muscles failed to respond. Lying on the ground, Remy cursed himself for his failure.

  The starless darkness above him was suddenly eclipsed by something even darker, something that loomed above, glaring down at him with a single, malevolent eye, the top of its shaggy head burning with a smoky orange halo of fire.

  It opened its mouth slowly, the light thrown from the flame on its head causing the
razor-sharp teeth within its fearsome maw to reflect the light and show him what was about to rend his flesh.

  And for what he had been responsible for…for what he had done to Ashley, Remy believed he truly deserved this fate and worse.

  Remy braced himself, his fingers digging deep into the solid darkness beneath him.

  But the killing strike did not fall, and he found himself looking up at something hard and glinting, protruding from the beast’s thick, muscular neck, something that was quickly pulled away but then driven again into another section of the monster’s upper body.

  A spear.

  The bear left his field of vision with a bellow of rage. Remy tried to turn his head but was too weak to do so. Something huge and heavy ran across his prone form, trampling him, rolling him across the ground until he came to rest on his stomach. He could see better now, his foe facing off against…

  Remy at once recognized the short, hooded shape he’d glimpsed through the back window of Scrimshaw’s vehicle when Remy had first arrived to the shadow realm.

  It hadn’t been a trick of the darkness; the figure was real.

  And for some reason, it was coming to his aid.

  Remy watched through eyes fighting to close as the beast and his small savior battled. Finally, the shadow beast fell to its side, and the hooded warrior plunged his spear into its chest to still its heart and end its misery.

  Remy’s eyes grew increasingly heavy as the mysterious figure slowly approached him.

  And the angel wondered if the same mercy was about to be shown to him.

  Squire hadn’t wanted to get involved, but there was something about this one, something that he recognized from long ago.

  He knelt beside the man on the ground. Keeping one hand on his spear, he used the other to feel the prone figure for injuries. Considering what he’d just gone through, he would have imagined worse. Just minor cuts, bumps, and bruises.

  Squire looked closely at the man’s face, hoping he’d made a mistake.

  But there it was, plain as day. There was no doubt about it; he was one of the good guys.

  “Fuck me,” the goblin grumbled, using the spear to pull himself to his feet. He looked around the landscape, squinting through the darkness, spying the wrecked limousine lying twisted upon its side, knowing exactly where it had come from.

  “So, what were you doing out there?” he asked, before he was distracted by a faint moan.

  He left the good guy’s side to go to the girl, surprised that she was still alive. In rough shape, but still alive.

  His pointed ears picked up the sounds of rustling off in the distance as more predators looking for a meal approached, drawn to the scent of death. Part of Squire wanted to say Fuck it and head back to his camp, where he could forget he’d ever come across these two out here.

  For a second he actually convinced himself that he could do that, but then he had to admit what a big fucking liar he was. He knew that what he intended to do would stir up all kinds of old memories and emotions-all things that he’d rather not remember.

  He’d been a good guy, too, not so long ago, but it hadn’t done him a bit of good. What he and his friends had been up against…what he and the other good guys were fighting…

  It ate fucking good guys for breakfast.

  He had been lucky to escape with his life.

  Squire picked up the girl and slung her over his shoulder with a grunt; then he walked over to the man. He was muttering over and over about the girl and how he had to save her.

  “You’re not in any shape to do shit,” the goblin growled. He plunged the spear into the black ground and reached down to take hold of the good guy’s wrist.

  He guessed that the guy was probably from some other, alternate world, one that hadn’t fallen to the threat that had claimed his own.

  Hasn’t fallen yet, Squire thought as he started to drag the man across the ground. In the end, no matter how many there are, they always fall.

  Squire had sensed the opening that had likely brought the good guy here some time ago, but had chosen to ignore it.

  Why set himself up for future disappointment? The worlds he’d found on the other side of the shadow were often just like the one he and his friends had fought so hard to protect. Sure, there were differences, but there were similarities, too.

  Like the fact that there was always a war of good against evil in various stages of development, and that the worlds always had protectors who believed they would triumph over the seemingly insurmountable obstacles that were set down before them.

  Images of the place he had left behind and the number of other worlds that he had stumbled across in the throes of death appeared unwanted inside his skull.

  And Squire wondered if he had it in him to see yet another.

  He paused for a moment, getting his bearings, before his senses zeroed in on the passage.

  Of course I have it in me, he thought, trudging across the shadowscape.

  For once upon a time, he had been a good guy, too.

  Algernon Stearns knocked lightly on the wooden door as he opened it.

  The little girl appeared to be sound asleep, but upon seeing him, her eyes brightened and she smiled.

  “Uncle Algernon,” she said happily, pushing herself to sit up.

  Stearns went to her bed and sat down beside her. She wrapped her spindly arms around him and, feigning affection, he hugged her back.

  “How’s my little Angelina feeling today?” he asked her.

  She released him from her pathetic grip and stared up at him, eyes wide. “The angels came to me, Uncle,” she said.

  “They did?” Stearns responded earnestly. “How exciting.”

  “And they told me that it would soon be time for me to tell God’s message to the world.”

  He smiled at her as best he could, the muscles in his face uncomfortable with the expression. “How marvelous that will be.”

  “Very much so,” she agreed, grabbing a nearby doll and clutching it to her chest.

  “And when it is time, who will be there to help you deliver this important message?” he asked her slyly.

  “You will, Uncle,” she said adoringly.

  He couldn’t help but be impressed with her. Even though he knew the truth, he could still not find a single flaw in her design.

  The Watchers had far surpassed anything he could have created on his own.

  “Yes,” he told her. “Yes, I will.”

  Angelina crawled out from beneath her heavy covers and maneuvered herself into his lap.

  “Tell me again how you will help,” she said, throwing her arms around his neck. “Just in case I might have forgot.”

  He chuckled, feeling a slight revulsion from the contact, but he allowed it to pass so that the charade could go on.

  “Let’s see,” he said. “I hope that I haven’t forgotten.”

  The little girl giggled, laying her head upon his shoulder. “You’re just being silly, Uncle. You would never forget anything so important.”

  “You know me too well, my dear. Let’s see…” He paused for effect before continuing. “When the angels come to you and tell you that it is time for all the worthy to hear God’s special message, I will come for you.”

  “In a big car-right, Uncle?”

  “Exactly,” he said with a nod. “I will send my special driver to pick you up and bring you to my building.”

  “The one that goes way, way up into the sky,” she said, lifting one of her arms above her head.

  “Almost to the clouds,” he told her. “High enough so you can hear the message that you will share coming all the way down from Heaven.”

  “And you’ll help me share that message,” little Angelina said, placing a tiny hand lovingly upon his cheek.

  “Yes, I will,” he told her. “Inside my building there is a special place…a studio that has been set up just for you.”

  She smiled widely, her eyes twinkling, even though she had heard this informatio
n countless times before.

  “A special place for you, the angels, and your message from God.”

  Stearns felt the palms of his hands grow itchy as the mouths wanted to manifest. He held them at bay, exerting his will on them.

  “And when you receive His special message, I will be there with my television cameras, broadcasting to all who wish to hear it.”

  “How many do you think will be listening?” the little girl asked.

  Stearns smiled not at the question, but at the answer.

  Far more than the number killed in Hiroshima in 1945, he thought, the mouths on his hands eagerly appearing before he forced them away again.

  “Millions,” he said, leaning in close to whisper in the child’s ear.

  “And I will touch each and every one of them with my message,” Angelina said.

  “You most assuredly will,” Stearns agreed. “Each and every one; they will never be the same after they hear you.”

  She placed her head upon his shoulder again, snuggling her face into the crook of his neck. “Why me, Uncle?” she asked. “Why did God choose me over so many others?”

  “It’s quite simple, really,” Stearns said. “You are very special, and God would select only a very special someone to deliver His message.”

  “But I don’t feel special.” Angelina lifted her head to gaze into his eyes.

  “If you only knew how special you really are,” he told her, for the first time being completely honest with the child.

  “You’re special, too,” she said then, hugging him tightly in a fragile grip.

  Stearns was finished here, and reached up to peel the girl away.

  “Uncle needs to go now,” he told her as he laid her back down on the bed. “There is still much to do in preparation for the big day.”

  She crawled beneath the covers, and he pulled them up to her chin.

  “Rest now, my special girl.” He forced himself to lean forward and kiss the child’s damp forehead.

  “What do you think it will be?” Angelina asked.

  “What will what be?”

  “The message,” she whispered. “What do you think God’s message will be?”