God Hammer: A novel of the Demon Accords

by John Conroe

  “You might think that, but it’s easier to blame the weird witch guy than the cool vampire boss who’s paying you lots of money.”

  “That seems unfair,” she suggested, biting into a kabob with gleaming white teeth.

  “Life is not renowned for fairness. It honestly doesn’t bother me all that much. I’m used to it from normals. My friends at school would have seen it differently, so I’m not so worried about this group,” I said, chomping into my own skewer. Instantly, a stream of heat bloomed in my mouth and throat, blossoming into an exquisite burn that sent my hand for the glass of ice water.

  “Packs a punch, right?” she asked laughing.

  “You could say that,” I gasped, then immediately took another bite.

  She laughed again, chewing her own kabob without any outward sign of discomfort.

  “I couldn’t eat this stuff before,” she said. “Now I love it.”

  I deciphered the before as in before the Change to being a werewolf. “So how does this—” I waved a hand at the ambience “—fit in with the Pack?”

  “Gita and her husband, Klahan, are both wolves. They met overseas, maybe in Thailand; I’m not sure. They chose to relocate to America and start their own restaurant. As you can see, their children make up most of their staff. It’s become a favorite hangout.”

  “Okay, India has wolves, right? But what about Thailand?” I asked.

  “Not so much, but LV has spread in small amounts to most every country. Klahan is a bitten wolf like me. Gita was born to it,” she said.

  “And Pack always mate with other wolves right?” I asked.

  “Nope. There’s not enough weres for that. Wolves mate with whoever they pick, although staying within the species is highly encouraged. Some of the couples here are mixed, were, and normal,” she said softly.

  I realized we were still being monitored by the nosey wolves of her Pack. Before I could change the subject, Gita appeared in the door of the kitchen and waved to Stacia to come to her.

  “I’ll be right back. Klahan probably wants to say hi and he’s the key to the kitchen, so he can’t come out,” she said, hopping up lithely and wending her way through the tables. “Maybe you want to say hi to your friend? Morgan, is it?”

  I just waved and nodded, allowing her to disappear into the kitchen. I knew Morgan a little but we weren’t what I would call friends.

  I took the opportunity to snag another kabob. No sooner had I bitten off a big chunk of particularly hot chicken than shadows fell across the table.

  Two men stood staring at me, eyes very unfriendly and flashing a hint of yellow. One was an inch shorter than me but wider and probably twenty pounds heavier, the other taller and forty or so pounds heavier. Gulping down the chicken, I found my throat closing around the hot spices, requiring me to drink water quickly.

  Appearing disadvantaged for any reason is a bad way to meet werewolves. They perceive it as weakness and after that recalibrating, their perception of you is a bitch.

  “Yeah,” I finally choked out.

  “You would be smart to aim a great deal lower, sheep,” the bigger of the two said. I had learned enough at school to understand the situation almost immediately. Some weres use the term sheep for normal humans. It’s not universal, and many weres find it uncomfortable if not outright offensive. Oddly, it’s usually the bitten weres who fling it about. These were unmated males who thought they had a shot with Stacia.

  “You don’t really know her at all, do you?” I asked. Looking back, I realize I could have said a great many other things, but what can I say? Bullies bring out the bad in me.

  “You are not one of us. She is. We’re giving you the benefit of a warning,” the smaller one said.

  Necrosis genitalia, Sorrow suggested. That sounded pretty bad. Perhaps suppurating boils on the buttocks? He offered.

  The restaurant had gone quiet and everyone was watching us. From the corner of one eye, I could see our young waitress hurry into the kitchen. Behind the two wolves, I could see my friend Morgan talking rapidly and urgently to his parents. Morgan was aware of my feelings on bullies. He was trying to get his family to leave. That realization calmed me more than anything else. This was not a place for me to respond as I might like.

  “Great. Good talk. Consider the message delivered,” I said.

  “What message would that be?” Stacia asked quietly from the kitchen doorway.

  I waved a hand to the two wolves that the ball was in their court.

  “You should not bring his kind here,” the larger one said.

  “Your name is Ty, right?” she asked. He nodded. “And you feel you can tell me who I can bring where?” she asked in a dangerous tone. “Is this your place?” she asked.

  The big one started to nod, but the smaller one elbowed him as Gita’s eyebrows rose. “Really? You will tell me who might come into my restaurant?” Gita asked, moving up to stand beside Stacia.

  “This is a Pack place. His kind don’t belong here,” the larger one said stubbornly and with mind-blowing stupidity.

  “Kind? What kind?” Stacia asked, almost a whisper. Her eyes were bright yellow and she scratched one ear with a finger that had grown a claw.

  The smaller one stepped back slightly, but the bigger one blundered on. “Sheep. He’s a sheep.”

  Stacia froze, eyes wide. Then she laughed. It was the surprised laugh of someone truly taken off guard.

  “Oh wow. Are you wrong. How have you survived this long?” she asked.

  “That’s a good question,” a deep voice said from the entrance to the restaurant. Brock Mallek loomed in the opening, an attractive woman just in front of him and an adolescent boy at his side. “Just how have you two managed to live this long?”

  Both men instantly cowered in place, shoulders slumping and heads falling forward in submission. “Alpha, we didn’t know you were there,” the smaller one said.

  “You obviously don’t know much, Scott. You don’t know whose restaurant you are standing in, telling patrons to leave. You don’t know Stacia at all if you think bullying her friends is the key to her heart. And you’ve made a spectacularly bad choice of people to threaten,” Brock said.

  “If you want to make it through your first decade as a wolf, you’ll have to learn to read people better. He’s not a wolf or a were, so you naturally felt like you had the upper hand. You forgot that our Stacia doesn’t suffer fools, so at best, you would be facing her wraith. Then you took it upon yourself to threaten one of Gita’s customers. Now you face the entire wraith of her clan. But the biggest mistake was thinking our young friend there was sheeplike. I think you mistook his patience for weakness. Look at him—does he look frightened? Intimidated?” Brock asked, moving closer till he was right between the two wolves. He dwarfed them as he put a big hand on each one’s shoulder and pulled them roughly around to look at me.

  “Well?” he asked, shaking them both.

  “Not particularly, sir,” the smaller one said.

  “Ty? What do you think?” Brock asked.

  “He might feel that we won’t attack him in here?” Ty said, confirming his spot as moron of the year.

  “Ty, what if I tell you that this young man is a special intern to Chris Gordon? What do you think that implies?” Brock asked.

  “We know that, sir. Stacia told Gita that,” Ty said.

  “You knew that and you still picked a fight?” Brock asked, incredulous.

  “You mean that Mr. Gordon would beat us up if we hurt his intern?” Scott, the smaller one, offered.

  “Well, that’s certainly one thought that should have held you up. But tell me, do you think just anyone is handpicked to be an intern to the Hammer of God?” Brock pressed.

  “You’d have to be tough as a mofo to work for him,” the young boy who was obviously Brock’s son, or clone, said, coming up alongside his dad.

  “See that? My twelve-year-old son, Bryce, has seen what you have somehow missed. Chris Gordon’s intern must have someth
ing going for him or he wouldn’t survive the first day at work, would he? Perhaps it’s for the best that you had the balls and the gall to address him here and now. I shudder to think what might have happened if you had jumped him outside the restaurant,” Brock said.

  Stacia grimaced as she thought about that, then her expression hardened. The two idiots in front of me looked bewildered and embarrassed, the smaller one looking like he might want to find a hole to crawl into. The bigger one still had just a hint of defiance about him.

  “You’re the witch, right?” Bryce asked me suddenly with the innocent brashness of kids. His mother’s lips twitched in annoyance and I had the impression he might get a lesson in manners after this all ended.

  “I am,” I said.

  “You do magic like Criss Angel?” he pressed on. Behind him, his mother’s eyes darkened.

  “Not like that, no. That’s illusion. What I do is real,” I said.

  “Oh yeah? He can levitate. Can you?” he challenged. His mother started forward but stopped at a gesture from Brock.

  “That’s too easy. Instead, why don’t I levitate you,” I said, twitching my fingers and tele-lifting him six inches off the floor.

  “Whoa! Mom, look at this! I’m floating,” he said, turning to look at his mom. Her expression was still dark, but now there was a hint of nervousness in it.

  Hmm, let’s not make a werewolf mom upset, shall we? With another twitch, I floated him a foot closer to her and then set him down. Her hands landed on his shoulders and he was yanked close to her, then spun around to face me. She whispered in his ear and his face went red.

  “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you about all that,” he said, meeting my eyes despite the embarrassment. He was definitely an Alpha in the making.

  “That’s okay,” I said.

  Brock turned to the two wolves. “Is that clear enough for you?”

  Scott, the smaller one, nodded. Ty, the idiot, frowned but also nodded.

  Brock clumped them both hard on the shoulder. “The key, gentlemen, will be to see if you learned anything from this. Now go. Leave.” It was an order, and one they instantly obeyed. Ty shot me a few looks as he left. He might be a remedial student.

  Gita met them at the door.

  “Do not darken my doorway until you are invited,” she said. Her husband and three sons moved up on either side of her to emphasize her point. Scott at least had the sense to look chagrined as he turned and walked out.

  Brock turned back to Gita and her husband. “I think we’ll join Stacia and our young friend here,” he said. Immediately, the family produced a second table and three more chairs.

  “You understand?” Brock’s wife asked Stacia.

  “Yes, of course, Afina,” my friend replied, nodding in agreement. It wasn’t ideal from my perspective, but when the Alphas decide they’re joining you, there isn’t much to say.

  After a moment, I realized that the Malleks had really no choice. They needed to show both solidarity with and complete lack of fear of the witch in the room. My demonstration been relatively mild, the boy only coming up a few inches off the floor. Most of the restaurant didn’t even see it. It was probably a good thing I hadn’t lifted old Ty and smashed his head into the ceiling. Sitting in the middle of a room full of frightened werewolves would probably be bad, I reflected.

  It only took moments for the efficient family of restaurateurs to reset the table and Klahan to arrive with more kabobs, both chicken and beef.

  “So, we’ve interrupted your dinner. Were you discussing work?” Brock asked.

  “No, Brock. We were about to talk weapons. Beast-form-sized weapons,” Stacia said.

  “Oh now you have my complete attention,” he said. From the attentive looks on his wife and son’s faces, we had theirs as well.

  “Well, it’s like this. Claws and teeth don’t work well against metal armor and silver machine blades,” Stacia said, holding up her left forearm to show the thin white scar there.

  “Machine blades?” Afina asked.

  “This has to do with the Corporation’s antagonist, doesn’t it?” Brock asked, looking at me.

  I nodded but let Stacia tell the story. She never referred to Anvil by name, but instead kept her words generic. Afina was obviously clued in as she nodded along as the tale was told. More food came out, most of the restaurant continued to listen, and then both Alphas made suggestions about how to fight machines and the weapons she should choose. Drawings were rendered on napkins and my glass of water had to be refilled many times as fiery morsels burned their way to my stomach.

  “Well, what did you think?” Stacia asked after we said goodnight to the Alphas and Gita’s clan.

  “I think your ability to heal must rebuild your stomachs every five minutes in that place,” I said, rubbing my own stomach.

  “I meant about the Malleks and the others,” she said with mild exasperation.

  “Yeah, they’re pretty fiery, too. I met Brock at the board meeting. He’s very sharp and forward. His wife, too. The kid’s just like him, but maybe a bit spoiled from being the Alphas’ kid. Oh, and it must be lonely sometimes when every idiot guy thinks you’ve been missing out all your life until you met him, and every idiot girl gets jealous because you’re gorgeous,” I said, unlocking Beast’s passenger door while mentally powering down his protective wards.

  “Thank you for not blasting those morons to pieces,” she said.

  “Hey, your people, your place. It wouldn’t have been respectful to get into anything with them. Plus, I figured our waitress would let you know about it and then I could see how you wanted to handle it,” I said.

  “Respectful? How old are you?” she asked. “I know guys twice your age who wouldn’t have figured that all out. But tell me, what would you have done?”

  “Sorrow suggested Necrosis genitalia, which I think is a flesh-eating spell that attacks the victim’s junk.”

  “Werewolves heal fast and are magically resistant to disease,” she pointed out.

  “It’s a magic spell, so it would keep attacking as they kept healing. Sorrow has had much experience with weres.”

  “That’s… disturbing. Was that really your first choice?” she asked as I climbed in the other side.

  I started Beast. “No. That would be literally evil. Never ending junk-eating disease? That’s something you reserve for rapists,” I said. “I would likely just fling them out the door with some good old-fashioned telekinesis.”

  “And they would likely Change and come charging back in,” she said.

  “No, you mean Change and come charging back into an invisible wall,” I said.

  “And you think that would keep determined weres out?”

  “I think having your wolf head stuck in nothingness while curry and pepper powder blows right up your sensitive wolf nose might make an impression,” I said.

  “Now that would have been interesting to see. Although Brock would have had their heads off for Changing in the middle of the dinner hour in the middle of Manhattan,” she said. “You’re gonna want to pull out and stay in the right lane here.”

  “Just stay crouched down so the damned paparazzi don’t see you,” I said, pulling out into traffic. “And thanks for an interesting dinner.”

  “Somehow, Mr. Warlock, I think more than half the interesting parts came from you,” she said, “ and turn right here.”

  She missed my smile, being to busy navigating us back to Demidova world headquarters, but that was probably just as well.

  Chapter 27 – Chris

  There have been Pentagon briefings that weren’t as thorough as the one that Darion and Tanya’s teams delivered on the Church of the True and the Reverend Castille.

  A young lawyer from Darion’s firm delivered the backstory on the not-so-good reverend. Dressed in a sharp navy dress suit, the brunette esquire was probably close to the same age as Tanya and me, but her delivery was as polished and assured as someone ten years older. She ran a projector remote as s
he spoke, never once referring to any notes. The pictures began with a family photo.

  “Daniel Castille was born Daniel Kane. He is forty-five years old. His father was mayor of the town of Glint, Oregon; his mother the town historian. When he was sixteen, his father was run out of office for having an affair with a council member. Daniel’s family fell apart in the ensuing divorce. At eighteen, he left his mother’s home and made his way north to Seattle, where he took a job at one of the city’s casinos. By age twenty, he had been bitten hard by the gambling bug, and in his thirties, he was briefly successful on the poker circuit. His good luck turned bad and he lost two big games the same night, a week after his thirty-sixth birthday. He only had enough stake to enter one, but he somehow fudged it and entered both. He chose to skip town rather than make good on his debts. Three months later, he turned up in Fairbanks, Alaska, again taking a job in a casino, only this time under the assumed name of Castille. He met his attorney and later business partner there when the two embarked on a gold mining operation eighteen months after his arrival in Fairbanks.” Darion’s associate, whose name was Kate Doughton, had kept a series of photos of Daniel Castille flipping by as she spoke. Now, she paused on a picture of what appeared to be a ghost town.