Storm Demon

by Gregory Lamberson

  “I could ask you the same thing, and I will, but let’s get out of here first.” Using one foot, Jake swept the candles out of their way, and they stepped clear of them.

  Laurel stumbled beside him, and he maintained his grip on her bicep.

  “I’m so weak,” she said.

  Jake slid the backpack from his shoulders and turned sideways. “Unzip the side pocket.”

  Laurel wavered as she unzipped the bag and took out a granola bar.

  “I keep them for when I’m on stakeout,” Jake said.

  Chewing on the crunchy bar, Laurel zipped the backpack shut.

  Jake dropped the backpack, then took off his nylon jacket and held it out to her. “I didn’t think to bring a change of clothes for you.”

  Laurel pulled the jacket on and zipped it, and Jake led her out of the chamber to the stairway. Her weakened state and bare feet slowed their ascent up the stairs.

  “Did you find a blood relative of Ramera Evans?” Laurel said.

  “Yes, in Miami. Then I went to Pavot Island.”

  Laurel raised her eyebrows. “Is that where you were maimed?”

  “It was worth it. Edgar’s home and he’s human.”

  “That’s incredible.”

  “Let’s see if I can get you out of here alive.” At the top of the stairs, Jake led Laurel to where the trick bookcase remained parked against the wall. After the commotion with the cats, he half expected the maid to have found him out.

  Ripper’s voice came over the speaker in his ear. “Are you there, Jake? What’s going on? I’m getting nervous.”

  Jake squeezed the microphone button. “Sorry about that. I’m not used to having backup. I’m coming out now, and I’m not alone, so be ready for trouble.”

  Laurel blinked at him.

  “My office manager’s boyfriend.”

  “Ripper’s an ex-con and you don’t like him.”

  Shrugging, Jake raised his stump. “I needed help. Your life matters more to me than the quality of the company I keep.”

  “Thank you for coming.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  They stood before the giant blades in the secret doorway. Jake took the remote control from his pocket. He pressed Play and the bookcase moved forward on its tracks. He pressed Stop and it stopped.

  “It should be deactivated.” He unsheathed his knife and tossed it on the floor. The blades remained motionless.

  “Come on.” He stepped over the lower blade and beneath the upper one and helped Laurel do the same. Then he ushered her away from the mat before the doorway and pressed the remote control, triggering the bookcase to return to its proper place. While that happened, he lay on the floor and retrieved his knife, which he sheathed. Jake stuffed the remote control back into his pocket, and he and Laurel crossed the basement, passing the chests.

  Jake slid the backpack off, reached inside, and removed a gas mask. “I didn’t think ahead to bring you clothes, but I did bring this. Put it on.”

  Laurel stretched the insect-like rubber mask over her head.

  “Now me.”

  She took out another gas mask and stretched it over his head, then adjusted the rubber around his skin. They regarded each other through two layers of protective lenses. Jake took a metal cylinder out of his backpack and shook it; Laurel closed the pack and held it while Jake slid his arms through the straps.

  They walked to the basement stairway, where Jake froze. The naked corpse of a man lay on the stairs, where Jake had left the cat he had killed. The man’s penis bore the scars of long-ago mutilation.

  He was neutered.

  He didn’t know why he was surprised. Katrina had turned Edgar into a raven, so there was no reason to doubt that Lilian Kane—whoever she was—turned men into cats. And then she had them neutered or performed the procedure herself.

  “Come on,” he said, his voice muffled by the mask.

  They crept up the stairs, past the corpse.

  Jake held the cylinder out to her. “Twist the top.”

  Laurel did as he said, and the cylinder belched tear gas.

  “Now open the door.”

  Laurel turned the knob and Jake kicked it wide open, revealing at least two dozen black cats waiting for them. He aimed the gas at the closest cats, spraying them, and they retreated, some yowling. Then he threw the cylinder into the middle of the pack, scattering the felines in all directions.

  He and Laurel entered the kitchen, which seemed darker through the lenses of his gas mask.

  A shadow moved to his left, and as he turned a woman in a maid’s uniform screamed and lunged at him, cocking her arm high over her head, a butcher’s knife gleaming. Her eyes were entirely black, like two lumps of coal.

  Flinching, Jake raised his left arm in a defensive gesture just as the maid swung the knife. He deflected the blow with his stump, then clocked the woman in the jaw, slamming her against the pantry. The maid dropped the knife and cried out, a strangled sound that could have come from one of the blinded cats, then bent over to retrieve her weapon. Jake kicked the knife out of her reach, then pulled her up by her hair and punched her again, this time hard enough to knock her out.

  As she slumped to the floor, Laurel shrieked.

  Spinning, he saw her staggering in a circle with two cats clawing at her shoulders.

  “Move into the dispersal area,” he said.

  She stumbled into the gas, and the cats leapt from her and fled, leaving claw marks in Jake’s jacket.

  Jake grabbed Laurel’s arm. Dragging her behind him, he ran into the piano room. Three cats appeared ahead of them, hissing as their tails puffed out. Jake kicked one across the room, and it scrambled beneath a sofa. He stomped on another, breaking its back. The third ran up his body and clawed at his face, which the gas mask protected. He grabbed the cat by the nape of its neck and hurled it at the floor, where it stopped moving.

  He didn’t wait to see how long it would take for them to revert to human form. They rushed into the gallery, where he came to a sudden stop, his heart thudding at the sight of the woman standing before them.

  Lilian Kane.

  She looked just as she had at World Book Expo, except she had stopped smiling.

  Jake felt the blood draining from his face.

  Laurel ripped off her gas mask. “She isn’t really there. Astral projection.”

  Unconvinced, Jake removed his gas mask as well.

  Lilian continued to stare at him, blinking.

  He passed his arm through her body, which had no mass. “She sees us, though.”

  Laurel tugged on Jake’s arm, leading him through Lilian’s image. When they reached the French doors, he looked behind him and Lilian had vanished. Staring ahead, he felt like he was gazing at an alien landscape. Darkness had fallen over the estate, yet sunlight still shone through the cloudy sky.

  “We have to hurry,” Laurel said.

  “Stick the masks back in my pack,” Jake said.

  Laurel stuffed their masks inside it.

  As soon as Jake heard her zip up the bag, he opened the French doors and they ran onto the patio. He closed the doors to prevent any of the cats from chasing them. Muddy clouds covered the sky as far as he could see, and the air crackled with electricity, causing the hair on his neck to stand on end. But the sky had been clear twenty-five minutes earlier.

  A sound behind them caused Jake to turn around. The cats threw themselves against the French doors. Taking Laurel’s hand, he ran off the patio and onto the lawn. He could only run at half speed because Laurel’s bare feet slowed them down.

  “What did you do to piss off those cats?” Ripper said over his earpiece.

  “Not now,” Jake said.

  They passed between the stone bench and the fire pit, and Jake glimpsed what appeared to be ashen corpses intertwined.

  Human sacrifices?

  Regulating his breathing, Jake frowned as he stared ahead. In the floral garden closest to them the arms of the goddess statue were raised b
efore it like those of a wrestler. Jake remembered them being spread out, palms to the earth. As he slowed his gait, the statue’s head turned in

  their direction.

  Mother-father, Jake thought.

  Laurel stopped in her tracks, halting Jake as well.

  The statue stepped off its pedestal and crossed the garden, its angelic wings resembling weapons.

  “What the fuck?” Ripper said.

  The statue moved with mechanical consistency, crushing bushes as it walked onto the lawn, where it faced Jake and Laurel. Then it continued forward.

  14

  Releasing Laurel’s hand, Jake squeezed the button for his microphone. “Shoot it.”

  Automatic gunfire exploded from the woods behind the statue, and Jake drew his Thunder Ranch and fired as well.

  The statue stopped and looked over its shoulder in Ripper’s direction, then turned back to Jake and Laurel and resumed its advance.

  “Put your gun away,” Laurel said.

  Jake had fired half his load. “Are you crazy?”

  “I need your hand.”

  Jake saw the seriousness in her eyes and holstered his gun. He held out his hand, which she grasped.

  The statue stopped moving.

  “Move eight paces to our right and stop,” Laurel said under her breath.

  Jake followed her lead like a twelve-year-old boy forced to dance at school.

  They stopped.

  The statue moved forward, slower this time, turning its head from side to side.

  “We’re invisible to it,” Laurel whispered.

  Jake glanced at her. He saw her fine. He looked at their clasped hands: he saw them, too. “I don’t understand.”

  The statue jerked its head in their direction.

  Laurel pursed her lips, mimicking a shush.

  Then it occurred to Jake: blind spots. Kira Thorn had created one around the penthouse of the Tower to keep Old Nick’s location a secret from the higher powers, and Avademe had created several for the same purpose.

  Laurel took soft steps toward the woods, and Jake attempted to do the same.

  The statue studied the ground behind them.

  With his heart pounding, Jake did the same. It sees the tracks we’re making.

  The statue broke into a run, its marble feet tearing up the lawn as it charged at them like an angry bull.

  Jake shoved Laurel away, knowing he would become visible to the statue again. Laurel staggered backwards and fell on the grass.

  The statue locked its blank eyes on Jake and moved in his direction.

  “Keep shooting,” Jake said into the microphone on his headset. He drew his revolver and fired his last three shots, each round striking its intended target and producing little more than a puff of white particles. He stuffed the empty revolver back into its shoulder holster.

  Ripper continued to pepper the statue’s back and wings with heavy firepower. “We’ve got company.”

  Good, Jake thought.

  Two security guards in blue uniforms ran around the corner of the mansion with Glocks drawn, one heavyset with curly red hair and the other Hispanic with a bushy mustache. Their eyes widened as they skidded to a stop and gaped at the statue, which turned to them. The guards were too mesmerized to pay attention to Jake.

  “Fire,” Jake said.

  The guards raised their weapons and opened fire. The rounds ricocheted off the statue’s body, and Jake found it impossible to calculate where they would strike.

  The statue’s wings folded away from its shoulders. Jake knew the wings couldn’t expand, but their pointed tips still made them deadly weapons. It ran at the guards, who stutter-stepped away from each other, then it pivoted, swiping at them with its wings. One wing crushed the redheaded guard’s skull; the other shattered the hip of the Hispanic guard, who screamed as his broken body collapsed to the earth. The first guard’s soul rose from his corpse and faded.

  Laurel went to the redheaded guard and stared at his Glock.

  The statue regarded Jake with unblinking eyes, then sprinted toward him. Jake fled toward the rear of the mansion. He knew the statue was in close pursuit when he heard the sharp cracking sound made by marble feet slamming onto concrete. Thank God the statue was too heavy to fly.

  The footsteps grew louder behind him, closer. Turning his head, he glimpsed the marble monster out of the corner of his eye. It ran in perfect form, its hands balled into fists, moving with a single purpose: to destroy him. The statue bore down on him, and Jake feared it would leap, closing the distance between them.

  Dodging to his right, he hid behind a stone column. The statue peered around the column to his right, and he feinted left. Then it peered around the left side, and he feinted right. Taking a single step back, he pivoted and sprinted for a statue of a lion perched near a flight of wide stone steps. The goddess statue’s footsteps thundered behind him.

  As he ducked behind the lion, Jake saw the shadow of the goddess statue swinging over the granite lion. An instant later, chips of the lion’s mane rained down on the concrete. Jake stood behind the lion as the goddess positioned itself to pummel him. The female statue jabbed at him with each fist, and he ducked from side to side. Then the goddess swung at the lion’s head with such force that fissures formed throughout the head. Another swing obliterated the head, and Jake flinched to avoid flying shards.

  “Are you all right?” Ripper said over the walkie-talkie.

  Jake ran to the far edge of the patio. Three flights of stone steps separated by landings descended the hill to a glass-enclosed swimming pool. He rushed down the stairs. The statue jumped on the first landing with what sounded like an explosion. Seeing the figure struggle to free its legs as if they had become entrapped in quicksand, he knew the impact had shattered one of the slabs that formed the landing.

  “What the hell’s going on, Jake?”

  Jake pinched the microphone control. “I’m a little busy.”

  He ran down the final flight of stairs to the concrete that surrounded the swimming pool. Beyond the pool, the hill continued to slope to the valley. As Jake opened the wide door of the glass structure, he heard the statue’s footsteps cracking the steps behind him. He hurried inside and closed the door.

  Laurel appeared at the top of the steps, a Glock in her hand. Jake prayed she would not fire the weapon; it would do no good, and maybe the statue would see the gun even if it didn’t see her.

  He pushed a pool chair in front of the door, then searched for a weapon. To his left, a waterfall cascaded into an oval pool that appeared to have no shallow end. Next to it, a fountain frothed in the center of a pool three feet deep with curved stairs beneath the surface. And to Jake’s right, steam rose from a hot tub. He grabbed a pool skimmer on a long aluminum pole and practiced lunging with it, but the device was useless with one hand, and he discarded it.

  The sharp sound of glass shattering caused him to turn as the statue crashed through the door. The statue crushed the aluminum frame of the pool chair with a single step.

  Jake picked up the pool skimmer and held it like a jousting lance. He swatted the statue’s face with the skimmer four times in rapid succession.

  Then the statue plucked it from his hand and bent it in half.

  Big deal. I could have done that. Jake moved backwards, keeping his eye on the pool’s edge. Crouching, he drew his knife from its sheath and held it ready. He could run around the pool in circles until Lilian came home, or he could settle this now.

  Jake charged at the statue. It swung its right wing at him, and he jumped back. The statue recovered its balance, and he charged at it again. The statue swung its left wing at him. He jumped back once more, and as soon as the wing passed him he kicked it, trying to drive the statue into the swimming pool. But the statue used its momentum to spin in a complete circle with far more grace than Jake had thought possible.

  He heard a whooshing sound as the wing came back down, and he moved away just as the tip of the wing shattered a piec
e of the concrete deck. The marble goddess jerked her wing free and wavered for balance.

  Even though Jake knew a single blow from the statue could crush his skull, he had no choice but to engage it. The statue tilted toward the pool, then regained its balance by dropping its right wing for support. Jake faced it sideways, with his back to the pool. The statue threw a left at him that he ducked beneath, saving his brain, then it threw a right, which he also avoided.

  He sheathed the knife and threw himself at the statue’s torso, knowing its reaction would be to crush him in a bear hug, then pressed his hand and stump against its chest and launched himself backwards off the edge of the pool. The last thing he saw before striking the water was the statue tottering on the edge.

  Jake sliced through the water and took some up his nostrils. The statue fell in after him, engulfed in a field of bubbles. It attempted to swim after him, but it sank to the bottom. Jake rolled over and kicked both legs, rising to the surface, where he swam as fast as he could to the opposite side of the pool. He found the task difficult with his left hand missing, but he made it and grasped the edge. He tried to jump out of the pool and sank back beneath the water. Turning, he saw the statue rising on one leg.

  He rose to the surface and swam along the edge until he reached the ladder, which he scrambled up, his right arm doing double duty. He sucked in air as he set both feet on the concrete.

  The statue took slow steps toward him along the bottom of the pool.

  Jake seized the fiberglass ladder and shook it: he couldn’t remove it without tools. He ran around the pool, through the space where the door had been, and up the steps, water dripping from his nylon sunning suit, and met Laurel halfway up the steps.

  “Move,” Jake said, out of breath.

  Laurel stared past him. “Look.”

  Jake turned. Inside the pool, the statue started pulling itself up the ladder, its wings breaking the surface. Then the steps on the ladder broke, and the statue sank from view.

  “How did you know?” Laurel said.

  “I didn’t. I just guessed.”

  “Lilian controlled that statue from afar. Now that you’ve put it out of commission she’ll find another way to come after us.”