Mid-Arc

by David Gosnell

  “Simple enough, but what about the whole rip-his-memories-from-him thing?”

  Sil pipes up this time. “Risky. You may well scramble his brains if he’s too resistant.”

  That gets a smile from Znuul. “Thanks for that. What she said. Maybe after he can’t pitch up much resistance and is ready to surrender. Otherwise...risky with the data.”

  Great. He’s already dehumanizing him—data from the machine.

  He puts his arm around me, gives Shey a glance to back off, and walks me over away from the office.

  “You don’t have to be a part of this. No shame on you at all. This kind of...endeavor. It’s not for everybody.”

  I’m being given an out. And I really appreciate that. Torture is the kind of thing that leaves a dark mark on the soul. That is, unless your soul is already black. I’d like to think mine isn’t.

  “I’m in. This is a bad man with good information. Just don’t expect me to inflict the pain.”

  No smile from Znuul, just serious consideration and a nod. “You’ll be the good cop.”

  We walk back to the group, and Shey asks if I’ll be sitting it out.

  I tell her no.

  I get a very disappointed look from her and a nod of her own.

  “Okay, then., says Znuul. “Arthur, me, Silithes—in the room. Vets, do you mind keeping the place secure?”

  Vets looks to me and I nod to her. Hjuul woofs to let us know he's guarding too.

  “I do as my Wielder wishes. You will be secure.”

  I chuckle a bit, not at her as much as just how implacable her code of conduct is. She doesn’t rankle or question my chuckle for even a second. She just knows. That’s nice.

  “Right. In we go,” says Znuul, with a genuine smile. “Oh, in a moment,” he says, looking over to me and Sil.

  He strolls over to Pffif who is sitting on the crate our weapons and body armor came in. He bends down and picks up Pfiff’s pipe. That gets a serious eye from my leprechaun.

  “Real fae pipe weed, Mr. Luchorpean?” Znuul asks. He seems genuinely interested.

  “Nah, that’s back at me home for special occasions.”

  Znuul gives it a sniff. “Sinsemilla?”

  That gets a shrug from Pffif.

  I’m going to have to keep better tabs on Pffif. There’s no way he could have brought it in from the white. Or is there? I am confused. How did he get it?

  Ignoring my confusion, Znuul lifts the pipe to his lips, and with a wink to Pffif produces a flame from the tip of his index finger. Puff, puff, and he hands the pipe to Pffif, who is all smiles.

  “Right kind of you, Mr. Destroyer,” Pffif acknowledges with a small pull on his pipe.

  “Balance in all things, Mr. Pffiferil. I now go to be very unkind. Thanks for the puff.”

  Pffif salutes him with the pipe and we all head into the office. To my surprise, Sheyliene is following. I shoot her a look. She just hugs me around my waist and we wade in.

  Jalal has been affixed upright with twist ties at both hands and feet to an X of two-by-fours. His mouth is gagged. He is totally naked. And he is wide awake now, with great big bulging eyes and “Errmph! Eee! Oh!” coming from his gagged mouth.

  There’s no furniture except Jalal’s makeshift crucifix and one table with brutal-looking instruments on it. No doubt the table is there for show. It's right in front of him. Jalal can’t miss it.

  “Hi,” says Znuul, with his artificial smile. Then he turns around to the table and grabs a very long, very sharp knife. What happened to reason first?

  “I’m going to cut your gag off here in a moment so we can talk. But before then, there’s a few things you need to know. First, my name is Ahtsag Znuul. I am the real and true Ahtsag Znuul. The creature you think is Znuul is an impostor.”

  He gives Jalal a moment to take that in while struggling against his bonds and muttering more from under his gag.

  Znuul looks at me and hands me the knife, hilt first. “He needs proof.”

  He takes off his t-shirt, unbuckles his pants, and winks at Sil. “Have to make room for the tail, isn’t that right?”

  “Pants suck for the tail,” she says, then looks at her own pants and shrugs.

  Once free of the pants, Znuul begins his transformation. His skin darkens, his wings sprout, and he grows even larger. Once done, he pops his neck and lets out a satisfied, “Ahh. . . So much better. Cut the gag, Arthur.”

  Jalal has obviously seen demonkind before. He’s not freaked out in the least. I cut the gag, and it doesn’t take Jalal a second to tell us how he feels.

  “You are a liar, demon. I know the true Ahtsag Znuul, bound by the heavens to their work. You are a deceiver and an abomination!” Jalal’s fanatical gaze turns to me. “What kind of demon are you? Show me! Show me your true face.”

  Znuul is rubbing his temples now, shaking his head. “He’s human, you idiot. In fact, he carries a holy sword of the Order of Paladins.”

  I step up to Jalal and look him in his crazed eyes. “Friend, you’ve been had. This is the real Ahtsag—”

  Jalal hawks up a gross quid of spit on me.

  “Okay!” Znuul bellows, which stops everyone in the room and makes Jalal turn to him. “Here’s the truth, Jalal. We are hunting the—what you would call a demon—that controls the false me. Arthur here and I are sworn to bring him to death because of what he has done to our respective families. You have been duped into plunging this world into chaos in the name of good. By the way. . . how is doing evil in the name of good, truly good in any way?”

  That gets Znuul a hawked loogie as well. Plus a few choice names, most of which I don’t understand.

  “Ok, now the nastiness starts,” Znuul says, wiping the spit from his face.

  Znuul steps over to Jalal, and with one of his sharp fingernails, begins digging into his flesh, making a small square. Of course, Jalal stays silent and tight-lipped.

  Only I know what’s coming. Maldgorath did the same damn thing to me. My body shudders involuntarily when I understand what Znuul is preparing to do. He’s going to flay the skin from this man—one small patch at a time. Probably eat it too—that’s what Maldgorath did to me. The cutting sucks, but the peeling is beyond agony.

  I can’t watch this. I can’t stand it. So I say so. “Ahtsag, you need to stop right now.”

  That gets me an “are you serious” look, which can be kind of intimidating, coming from Znuul.

  “Maldgorath did that to me. I can’t allow it, man. Are you going to eat his skin after you pull it off?”

  “That’s usually how it’s done.” Then Znuul does a double take. “He did that to you? Oh, I wish you had told me. This isn’t a good cop thing, is it?”

  I shake my head.

  “Please go, then. This will be brutal.”

  Jalal is basically freaking out at this point, asking what is going on.

  Then I get an idea. That happens every now and then. I have my own inquisitor, of sorts. I used her to great success in World War Two. It will end up just as badly for Jalal, but not as painfully.

  “I have a better idea, my brother,” I exclaim proudly, looking at Jalal. “Oh, Silithes, you beautiful, deadly creature, do you think you could help us here?”

  I feel that little, almost intangible, tingle that you sense when you come into contact with her as she wraps her arm around my waist.

  “You called me a beautiful creature. Hmmm.”

  Shey steps around in front of me and glares at Sil.

  “Oh, puh-lease, pixie. He called me beautiful! That deserves a hug.”

  I disregard Shey for a moment and turn to Sil, not because Shey’s intentions are unappreciated but because someone else needs a bit of direction. “We need to know everything he knows. Everything. No detail is too small.”

  Sil acknowledges that direction coolly. While the hug may have been full-on flirt, I think she knows this is business. Her arm leaves my side and she steps in between me and Jalal.

  “How much of
him do I get to have?”

  That’s the killer question. Literally. She’s asking me if she can eat his spirit once we’ve squeezed him for what he’s worth.

  “As much as you want, but we have to know everything he knows first.” The words aren’t coming out easy.

  “You're going to let her eat him?” squeals Shey.

  That, of course, gets Jalal a little freaked out; his crazed eyes are now wide-eyed crazy eyes.

  Znuul’s gaze has been upon me and Sil this whole time.

  “We’ll give it a go. If it doesn’t work? Back to pain.”

  “I’m leaving. What she does is just wrong,” says Sheyliene back to Znuul. True to her word, she makes to leave.

  Jalal isn’t saying much now. He’s kind of freaked out, looking from the eight-foot tall, dark beast, to me, to Sil, and a now-leaving Shey.

  Sil gives me a wink—it’s on.

  She turns around to Jalal. “Oh, baby, don’t you worry even a little. You and I are going to have biiiig fun.” She rubs her hand down his ribs in a casual way.

  But in truth, there’s nothing offhanded about it. Everything she does from here is deliberate. With that touch she imparted a small neuromancy. Which one, I can’t know—more than likely something to fire up the primitive brain centers of lust and desire.

  She strolls behind the two-by-four and begins running her hands up and down Jalal’s chest from behind while murmuring in his ear. “We’re going to have so much fun, Mr. Lion. I can hardly wait. Can’t you feel it?”

  She’s jacking him up even more. To him it probably feels like a real attraction, but I know it’s nothing but preparation for his surrender. And she’s doing this one by the numbers. She told me a long while back about her techniques. First the enticement, touches, and neuromantic intrusions. Then, she brings on surrender. Next is domination, followed by death or enslavement.

  Given how deeply Jalal is breathing and responding to her teases, she must have the neuromantic hooks in pretty deep.

  She finishes the circle around the crucifix and regards Jalal, making sure to take special attention to his arousal. “Somebody likes me,” she tells the room.

  Her eyes are 100% on his eyes and I guess pushing some telepathic boundaries. Then they go down to his arousal again. She reaches out, touching him briefly, then pulls back like she did something wrong. Silithes goes back to his eyes. “Sorry. Is it okay if I touch you?”

  Znuul looks over at me and mouths the word “wow,” making tiny, silent fake applause at the performance.

  “Stay away from me, demoness,” Jalal says weakly.

  Sil’s answer to that is to peel her shirt off and slowly press herself against him, rubbing her ample chest against his and curling a leg over his waist.

  “I can’t stay away,” she says, looking him in the eyes, then slowly, teasingly, taking his mouth.

  Jalal’s eyes are rolled up and he is macking away. Sil, whose eyes are open, is taking in everything; she is feeling nothing erotic. This encounter is nothing but work. Jalal sputters a moment and Sil moves from his mouth. With a tone something akin to a purr, she proclaims, “He just made a mess all over me. You bad boy.”

  She takes his ear with her tongue. It’s all right, baby, you’ll be doing a lot of that. I want you to do that, to give yourself to me, wholly, completely—over and over and over.”

  She backs away from him, looks at Znuul, and says in a now business-like tone, “Can you lay him on the ground? He’s in a real awkward position to work with there.”

  Znuul replies in a weird accent like some old mad doctor’s assistant. “Jeass, Meestress, I weel prepare the veectim.” Then he begins to move to set Jalal on the floor.

  Jalal doesn’t seem to notice, or care.

  And now my succubus comes to me, looking at me rather seriously. She unbuttons her pants. “This is the part where you want to go, Arthur. You don’t like watching me work them and take of them. Go.”

  She drops her pants and then steps out of them with a little dance. Leave it to Sil to take advantage of any opportunity to flash me the goods. She even gives me a little shimmy.

  That, of course, gets Jalal’s attention.

  She turns to him and purrs, “I’ll be right there, baby.” Then she shifts to her normal succubus form and turns back to me. “Arthur, you go now. Get. Znuul can take notes. My baby lion here will be singing soon enough.”

  She doesn't have to tell me again. It’s not as much the sex thing that is creepy, though there’s something wrong about watching others. It’s seeing the life flow out of the victim even while they’re begging to give her more. It’s seeing them wither away with a smile on their face. She could just as well be working on a shopping list.

  It’s just a good feeding for her.

  It’s just wrong to me.

  Outside the office, Shey crushes me in a hug and tells me how glad she is I’m not in there taking part in that.

  Pffiferil apologizes for having finished his pipe and offers me his flask. I pass. Vets and Hjuul are patrolling. I walk over to the crate Pffif is sitting on and take a load off.

  We hear Jalal cry out something to the effect of holy mother of god of all things blessed.

  After about ten minutes or so, Znuul opens the door to the office, phone to his ear.

  “Great move putting the succubus on him. He totally cracked and —” His attention shifts to the phone. “I will not leave a message. You tell him Zebedia is on the phone and you tell him now.”

  It’s funny seeing a huge gargoyle-demon creature rolling its eyes at being put on hold. Again, my life—it’s hardly usual.

  Znuul’s attention returns to me. “Listen on the point of how good your Silithes did, you—.” He goes back to the phone. “It’s about time—hey, shut up. Yes, I’ll burn this phone—if you’d answer your mobile.” He turns to head back to the office. “Listen, we have a situation. There’s a twenty-five-megaton nuke in Yerushalayim.”

  The office door shuts.

  I think Vets and I are the only ones to pick up on that. We stare at each other blankly with the realization of the kind of carnage a device like that can produce.

  Jalal’s been a very bad boy.

  Chapter 39

  “How many live in that Yerushalayim?” Vets asks me.

  “Not sure. Close to a million, I think.” I rack my brain for more details. What’s the blast radius of a device that size? How many people live there? Who in their right mind would do such a thing?

  Vets bares her teeth at me; she’s not a happy Vetisghar.

  This discussion causes a very inebriated Pffiferil to fall off the crate. He scrambles up as best he can. “Did ye just say that a million people ‘r gonna die? Say it ain’t so!”

  Shey says, “Oh, my,” with a faraway look.

  “I don’t know anything, guys, just what we heard in passing. Let’s wait for Znuul to finish his phone call.”

  The door opens and I anxiously turn around. But it’s not Znuul—it’s Silithes. And she’s dressed, which is a nice twist, though she’s maintained her real, succubic form. That required a little improvised tailoring on her part, a tear in the pants for her tail. No big deal, really.

  Jalal follows. He’s stark naked still and looks like hell. I guess she ate at least thirty or forty years off him. Despite that, he’s still all smiles, full arousal, and all adoring eyes on Silithes.

  “See, Arthur, I didn’t kill him. Doesn’t that make you happy?”

  Well, it kind of does. I figured him a goner. That’s another mark on my soul avoided.

  “Big surprise, Sil. Thanks, I think,” is all I can come up with.

  That gets me her best beaming smile.

  “Can I keep him? I’ll feed him and clean up after him. See? He’s all nice now. He can paint my toenails and do our housework. Won’t you, my little lion?”

  “Yes, mistress, anything you desire.”

  This arrangement, of course, just doesn’t work for me. We don’t keep slave
s.

  Shey is all over that remark. “She wants to keep a human slave! Arthur, that’s not right.”

  “Oh, puh-lease, pixie,” says Sil. “He’s a pet, not a slave. Just like Kitten.” She looks over at Kitten and asks, “Being a pet isn’t bad, is it, Kitten baby?”

  “Being a pet is really great!”

  I would have expected no other response from Kitten. All the same, Sil will not be allowed to keep a pet, servant, house attendant, or any other label she can come up.

  “Not happening, Sil.”

  Jalal bows up and declares, “Who are you to question the Mistress!” as if he’s her protector. Sort of creepy—a naked old guy with a perma-boner telling me to keep to my place.

  Sil’s hand reaches out to his shoulder. “That’s my master, little lion, and you better respect him.”

  “You have a master? You are not mistress of all you survey?”

  He sounds a little let down. Boo-hoo for him. Silithes does not rule the world.

  The door opens again. It’s Znuul, who ducks under the door jamb in his usual way. He looks over at Silithes and her little lion. “You should have taken him. He’s a loose end.”

  “He’s under control.”

  Znuul smiles. “Sure. Hey, by the way, great job in there. Really good. Unfortunate that I have to do this. You’re a Sister of the Order, right—the Order of Nilisarna?”

  Sil’s face goes from elated to blank. “Why does that matter?”

  “You are, then?”

  She just stares at him.

  Znuul turns to me. “I don’t often admit I'm wrong. But this is one of those cases, Arthur. I was wrong. Do not, whatever you do, put your dick into that succubus. She can hurt you—badly.”

  “How dare you!” Sil is very agitated now. “You dare to come between me and my Wielder? I gave you my gifts, you can’t—”

  Again Jalal steps in. “Beast! How dare you affront my mistress. I weel keeel you!”

  Znuul gives him the stink eye and then says to me, “Arthur, she’s not your normal succubus. Think about it like this—take a normal human guy. Little paunch around the belly, no fighter training. Now set him against a Spetsnaz soldier, infused with Chuck Norris’s indestructible DNA. That’s the difference between a normal succubus and one of the Sisters.”