by Logan Fox
Pearl’s gaze slid down, fixing to the patch of red on The Chair’s stomach.
“Jus’ a scratch, lover,” The Chair said. “Ain’t nothing can keep me down, mind.”
Pearl fell back from the advancing man. She saw Owen tear a strip of fabric from Jarred’s robe and wind it around his wrist. Pearl’s back thudded into the wall behind her. She twisted, trying to keep Owen and The Chair in view as she worked her way down the steps.
Toward freedom.
To the side, the spotlight flickered.
And then it went out.
For a second — an eternity — the Earth was plunged into blackness. But the candles were still lit. They still wavered and spat in their holders against the wall. But their light was feeble and inconsequential compared with the glaring spotlight. So, even though sight returned an instant later, everything was grainy and vague.
Like an old film played against a moth-eaten sheet in someone’s basement.
The movie’s backdrop — an eerie underground hall. Narrow and bleak. Silent figures watching as a goat-headed druid disemboweled a sacrifice.
Shadows twined and merged, spinning into thick columns of darkness that bunched in the corners, breathing heavily as they waited to descend.
The capricious man in front of Pearl wasn’t a man anymore. It became an amorphous blob of flesh, face a sagging, featureless mound on sloping, shapeless shoulders. It made a sound that wasn’t a word, just a rumble of animalistic intent. It reached for her with thick, grasping fingers. She shied away, her anger flickering just like the spotlight had.
Perhaps that fury couldn’t withstand the crowding malevolence in the room.
Pearl could feel that evil like a physical force, weighing on her, trying to force her to knees.
Trying to force her into submission.
Fate, wearing a goat’s-head mask and a robe of flayed skin.
No more.
The slug surged forward, intent on taking hold of her. Pearl twisted, naked shoulder scraping against the concrete to avoid his touch. It made a frustrated sound, following her. The light shifted as she moved again. There was a candle stand behind her, but low to the ground. A three-wicked candle sat on its base, flames dancing as she disturbed their tranquil air.
Behind the slug reared Owen.
Owen, who’d bound his slit wrist and bitten fingers, who wasn’t even limping anymore.
Owen, whose now naked torso shimmered wetly with blood.
Streaks ran up his chest, covered his shoulders, graced his arms. It almost covered his tattoo. But that eye — that dead, soulless eye — still stared out. Taunting her. Gazing, unrelenting, into her psyche. Evaluating her sudden surge of strength… and finding it wanting.
A hand trailed away from Owen’s flesh. A second shape stepped up beside him, fingers sliding over its own pectoral muscles.
Those brothers no longer wore masks.
How could masks have such malevolent lights dancing in their demonic eyes? How could a simple structure of leather and hide form wet, twitching nostrils or lips bared back from sharp teeth?
Pearl forced a blink.
Will shook his head. That shaggy mane of hair billowed out. He twisted, bovine lips forming into a leer. He reached past Owen and dragged something from the altar. And as he did Pearl could see the hair growing down his back. Ridged, like a goat. Fused with his flesh.
A sliver of air teased against her skin.
Pearl looked down, her heart beating desperately against her ribs.
There, distorted by the three levels of steps she’d moved down without realizing, a shadow darkened the concrete.
Hers.
But not hers.
Because, the last time she’d checked, Pearl Buchanan didn’t have nine fucking tails.
It was obvious — she’d hit her head. Hard. More than once. And had it kicked. Then there were the drugs. Exhaustion. Brain damage — from the beating, of course. Or perhaps, despite that injection she’d received three weeks — years — ago, she’d contracted syphilis. Maybe, right now, her brain was slowly succumbing to it. Driving her mad.
Making her see things.
Things like her own distorted shadow sporting more than its usual amount of tails… i.e. zero.
Pearl only realized all sound had disappeared, swallowed by her sudden confusion, when it poured back a second later. Furious, panting murmurs behind her. Keening wails, tamped down by duct tape.
Guess her audience was about to get one of those 4D shows — you know, where they put on the sprinklers when it rained?
Except… no rain. Just blood. Her blood.
The slug feinted to the right. Pearl fell for it, still engrossed in trying to figure out how she’d grown not just one but several fluffy tails in the span of an instant. A hand, clammy and hard, closed over her upper arm.
Pearl slashed out with her knife. It jarred her hand as it dug into the slug’s bicep. The thing roared, but didn’t release her. So she struck it again, falling back with all her weight to try and jerk its fingers free from her.
Behind it, the demon brothers began to ascend.
Was she stuck in slow motion? Why the hell was her breath tearing through her at a hundred miles a second while everything moved with the languid indolence of dawn breaking?
More frantic sounds behind her. Pearl scurried back, her bare ass scraping over concrete as she kicked out at the slug.
She veered to the left, planting another kick on slug-man’s knee.
This did nothing but piss him off. He grabbed her ankle before she could whip it away, and tugged her toward him. Pearl rolled onto her stomach, clawing desperately behind her for something to hold onto.
She grabbed onto Tanner’s leg.
Her shock was reflected in his shining eyes. Sweat slicked his pale face. The duct tape over his mouth writhed as he tried to speak to her.
She hadn’t even realized she’d been so close to the pews.
The slug man’s hand closed over her thigh.
Pain tore through her. Pearl’s fingers fell away from Tanner. The man moaned at her through the tape over his mouth, eyes darting furiously from her face to whatever lay behind her.
She couldn’t do this alone.
Not her against two demons and a slug man.
Even if she was — had somehow become — a demon herself.
She certainly didn’t feel very fucking demonic.
Tired, yeah.
Chock-full of deep, spitting rage, yes.
But not strong. Not determined.
Pearl glanced behind her.
The demons stood on either side of the slug man. Watching with noses dipped low, wet nostrils flaring. And then they reached for her.
Pearl screamed. She stretched, grabbed hold of Tanner’s outstretched leg, and pulled with all her might.
The slug man’s hands slid off her thigh, his nails further renting open that gash of flesh with a sound like tearing cloth. Pearl felt blood drain away from her face. Blackness soared down on her as her grip fell away. Pain lashed at her — a cat-and-nine-tails with teeth of fire — before she could push it away.
Her hand shivered violently as she stretched up, grabbing at a crease in Tanner’s jeans. She pulled herself up, her own blood having greased her like a pig. Pearl heard herself laughing, tried to stop, couldn’t.
Tanner’s grey eyes were bloodshot, wild, and slowly losing focus. Pearl dragged herself up, feeling fingers brush her ankles. Demon fingers. She shook them off, spraying Tanner’s face with a mouthful of blood at the effort.
His eyes slid shut. He turned his head, his chest pushing into her as he drew a massive breath. Pearl could hear the same muffled shriek beside her, repeating, repeating, repeating.
She wished there was time to shut the girl up, whoever the fuck it was. Surely the idiot could be doing something more constructive right now than howling like a gutted cat.
Pearl’s hand moved in treacle as it wormed behind Tanner. The man managed to a
rch his back, giving her enough room to slip that knife between him and the pew. Still, she wouldn’t be surprised if she—
Tanner bellowed, the sound vibrating against the silver tape over his mouth.
—cut him.
Pearl slashed again with the knife, hearing the snap of rope as two hands closed over each of her ankles.
No escaping those fingers. Not this time.
Tanner’s hands writhed against hers. She let him wrestle the knife from her, giving him a small smile as she slithered off him. Her elbows cracked on the concrete as those two demons dragged her away.
She’d expected the smile to reassure the man. To tell him it was okay, that it was finally ending.
That now, at least, that unmerciful agony would finally end.
But, instead, red flecks mottled his skin. His eyes narrowed. And that squirming mouth of his stilled.
The slug man caught hold of her waist, lifting her. As he tipped her up, more blood ran into her mouth. How much of it had she swallowed already?
Pearl shoved the tip of her tongue against that gaping wound in her mouth, wincing faintly.
Maybe that’s why Tanner looked so angry.
They’d fucked up his pretty little fox.
14
Goodbye, Charlie
The marble was cool against her back. Pearl stared up at a ceiling as bleak and featureless as the walls that met it. Where those hungry shadows still pooled. Waiting. Breathing. Shifting.
Had they drugged her again? She felt a million miles away, her body as numb as when she’d first opened her eyes here. Her lips moved, splitting open the seam of gummy blood that had been sealing them.
A shadow loomed over her, distinct enough for her to recognize as the slug man.
“Where’s Seth?” she asked, her voice cracking on the name.
“Ain’t ‘ere,” the man said.
Something tugged on her ankle. Another rope? She didn’t like rope anymore. Ropes constrained. She didn’t like that anymore, either. She had, once. Who was she now? Not that girl. But… what did that leave her with? She’d always just been herself. Now she wasn’t anyone. Or anything. Just a zombie. A walking corpse, waiting for that patter of soil over its coffin lid.
She shifted. They’d dressed her in ears and tails again, hadn’t they? She could feel softness under her ass, fur tickling the curve of her lower back. And her ears…
They twitched. Ephemeral, distant… but the sensation was unmistakable.
And familiar.
She felt herself oozing back, sliding inside a body that barely flickered with life, its host shying away from her with reluctant grace.
So she was this thing now. This frightened slip of a girl, shivering in her own sweat as these demons wound her pale, paint-and-blood-streaked skin with more rope.
She despised rope as much as she despised cages.
Cold and hard. Trapping, stifling.
She bared her teeth and let out a low growl. Those fingers around her ankles hesitated — as well they should. She writhed, arching her back, and let out another deep-throated growl.
No more innocent deaths.
Too many had suffered.
It ended now. Here.
Her fingers curled, nails biting into the soft flesh of her palm. More ropes spanned her wrists, holding them above her head. Again, her back arched. Her body resisted — her spine was supple, but her muscles were weak. Those wounds on her flesh were brittle sparks of pain — easily quashed, but still palpable — as was the gash in her thigh.
They’d tortured this creature. Maimed her. But this little fox would snap at their throats and claw out their guts. She’d feed on their intestines and gnaw off their fingers and toes.
She’d make them feel every wound, every knife cut, every strangling rope they’d made those other little foxes endure.
And just let that lurking demon-god of theirs try and stop her.
The kitsune arched again, straining at those bonds around feet and ankle. The splintered man — the one the girl called The Chair — appeared in her vision. Both demons, a second later. Their gibberish human words washed over her, annoying in their persistence.
She bared her teeth at them. Slid her tongue over her sharp canines. Tasted the girl’s blood in her mouth. It made her grin stretch, stretch like her limbs stretched.
Oh, they’d surely bound her tight.
But never, ever tight enough.
The girl screamed inside her as she tore her wrists through the bonds. Skin sloughed away like paper, baring pinkly-white flesh beneath. The fire of it snuffed out immediately, soothed by a single, cooling thought.
Skin grew back. Wounds healed.
Death, however, was more permanent.
The kitsune lashed out, claws finding the soft flesh of the slug man’s hood-covered cheek. His head whipped to the side, surprise widening one black eye before it turned away from her.
She reared up, elbow jabbing to the side. It took one of the bleating goat-demons in the throat. The thing staggered back, bloodied hands lifting to its crushed windpipe.
Time crept to a halt. The kitsune hissed, spraying blood into the slug man’s face as he turned back to her. His words mangled into a long moan.
She whipped her head forward. The girl’s forehead slammed into something hard but brittle. Cartilage shattered. The thing wailed in pain, falling away in another languid spray of blood.
How had they known red was her favorite color?
The kitsune twisted, a clawed hand catching the second goat demon over his throat. She’d wanted to see blood — more delicious red — but he ducked back at the last moment, leaving her with nothing but three pretty gashes in his flesh.
Her feet were still bound. Still trapped and constrained by that pale rope. A hard yank and a quickly-silenced cry of pain from the girl proved there would be no wriggling free from these. The kitsune’s head snapped around, glaring at slug man as he reared back to her, knife in hand.
Why had that idiot of a girl given away that metal tooth? They could have used it now. Could have driven it straight into this beast’s heart. Could have rented that pumping muscle in two, rupturing it. Ending him.
She hissed at him, chin jutting out. The slug man hesitated, fear roiling deep in his black eyes. And, in that moment of panic, she saw that manic psyche slip away. The yellow-bellied fiend — of course he wouldn’t be the one who died. No, no, no. Rather the Abby or the Rex. Let one of them be the one to feel life flicker away.
The fox snatched the knife from whomever held it. Those fingers didn’t resist, not shaking and terrified as they were. Her hand twisted, slashing through the air.
And the girl halted an inch from that thick, corded neck.
The kitsune howled, hand shaking as she tried to force it into the pumping artery.
Why did she fight? It could end! The beast was sick and in pain; why not snuff out its pathetic existence—
Rope looped around her neck, snapping tight with the sound of a whip crack. The girl wailed in fear before the kitsune could stamp out that squirming terror. She folded forward, dragging the demon behind her close. He lost his footing — probably in all the sweet, sticky blood pooling beneath the altar — and the rope went slack just long enough for to get the fingers of one hand behind it.
Just long enough for her to drive that knife out behind her.
It found a target. Shivered as it cleaved through flesh and scraped against bone. The demon yowled in the girl’s ear, nearly deafening her. She jerked on the rope, wrestling it over her head.
The kitsune leaned forward, hacking at the ropes around her ankles. There was a scuffle behind her, the sound of flesh slapping against marble. But she had to get free.
Escape.
She pushed away that wheedling voice. That’s all the pathetic girl ever thought about — escape. Freedom. Getting away. When all this time, she’d been driving her forward. Herding her toward the cliff that would end everything, once and for all.
The kitsune barked out a laugh.
Not her life. That was utterly insignificant compared to this… this madness. This depravity. This stinking evil that had burrowed itself into the world, settling barbed claws into the earth.
Her ankles were free.
The kitsune spun around, hackles raised at the sound of something rushing toward her. Her knife caught the demon in its eye. Glass shattered, unveiling the soft orb beneath. Her metal tooth burrowed deep inside, desecrating it like this demon had desecrated so many others.
It let out a long, ragged cry and slipped away, wrenching her knife with it.
The kitsune scrambled after it, fingers grasping.
Darkness blacked out the light. The kitsune froze, skin crawling. She swung her head around, staring at the silhouette behind her.
Just a man, now. Had it eschewed the demon it’d harbored for so long? Or did it find this shape more menacing for a little kitsune like her?
She scrambled around and slid off the altar, trying to keep its solidity between them. The man slunk after her, trailing her bloody footprints with his own.
Those green eyes were fixed, unblinking, on her. But they had a flicker to them. A streak of madness that made the girl inside her shiver and quake. His torso gleamed wetly still.
There’d been no time for the blood to dry.
Harried movements behind him almost distracted her, but she managed to keep her gaze fixed on the demon who called himself Owen.
He gave her a slow, predatory smile. She hissed at him, baring her teeth. This only seemed to raise those lips higher — to spread them wider. He flicked his fingers at her.
“Come.”
The kitsune growled. She hunkered down, slouching around the next corner of the altar. Somewhere in the distance, a man cried out in pain.
“Come show me what an obedient little slut you are.”
The girl inside her screeched and clawed her way out from behind the kitsune.
Throwing back her shoulders, Pearl surged forward. Owen barely had time to widen his eyes before she slammed into him, sending them both crashing into the wall. She could hear the sound of her own raging screams echoing through the Earth as her nails dug at his eyes.