by Bryan Smith
“I’ll pass.”
“Suit yourself.” His eyes flicked toward Kayla. “How ‘bout you, prom queen?”
“Thanks, but no.”
And fuck you, buddy. You don’t know me. Prom queen As if.
She felt like smacking the smug grin off his face. He appeared to sense her hostility because the grin became a knowing smirk. It killed her to choke back the apocalyptic verbal beat down her instincts screamed at her to unleash. But she did it because they still had an agenda here that was dependent on remaining on this loser’s good side. Besides, he couldn’t know she had never been prom queen, having come in second in the voting behind Cindy Tucker her senior year.
Brett took one more long hit off the bong and sat back again, draping a long, scrawny arm over the back of the couch. “What do you think of this jam?”
He was looking right at her.
She made a show of cocking her ear toward the stereo as she focused on the music for a minute. The beat was plodding. Heavy, resonant, evil-sounding chords strummed on crushingly loud guitars made the air vibrate.
She shrugged. “It’s…interesting. Not really my kind of thing.”
Brett laughed. “No. You’re more the Lady Gaga type.”
Kayla didn’t bother denying it.
Brett grinned again. “This is some doom metal shit. Thought it and the herb would go with the whole devil angle you guys are playing.”
“It’s not an angle, it’s the truth.”
“Whatever. Do you really think you could do it? Kill me, I mean?”
Kayla blew out a breath and squirmed a little in the uncomfortable folding chair. “I…don’t know. I know it’s wrong, okay? I should just accept my fate, but…”
He nodded. “You just can’t do that. Not yet, anyway.”
She studied his expression, noting that he no longer looked smug. There was maybe even a shade of real empathy there. “Yeah. I guess that’s right.”
He got off the couch again. “Hold on. Be right back.”
He vanished into the kitchen again.
Kayla looked at Lee. “This guy really used to be your best friend?”
“Yeah. For a long time.”
She frowned. “So tell me something. He lives in a shitty neighborhood. Like the dictionary definition of a shitty fucking neighborhood. And you tell me he’s poor. But he’s got about a thousand tats and a fat brick of weed. That kind of ink’s not cheap. Neither are the drugs. So what the fuck?”
“He’s a dealer, I guess. You noticed the missing teeth, right? He’s not just a pothead. That’s a meth thing.”
Kayla grunted. “Awesome.”
But it wasn’t awesome. This Brett dude wasn’t a subtle guy. She figured everybody in the neighborhood knew his business. It was even possible he was on the local law’s radar. Which, if true, meant they were hanging out in a known drug trafficker’s home.
Lee said, “Maybe we should just go.”
Kayla’s expression hardened. “No.”
He frowned. “Why not? Look, this was just the first idea I had. Let’s head back home and spend all night brainstorming some more. We won’t quit until we think of something good, I promise.”
Kayla shook her head. “We’re not done here yet.”
“But--”
“But nothing.”
Lee looked like he was about to object again, but at that moment Brett came back into the room, this time bearing an item far more disturbing than Starship Bong--a shiny nickel-plated revolver. Kayla could see bullets in the chambers.
Instead of reclining on the couch again, Brett approached Kayla and presented the weapon. “Take it.”
Kayla stared silently at the gun for several moments, but then she lifted her head and looked into Brett’s eyes. “What are you telling me?”
“I want you to do it. I want you to kill me, Kayla.”
She cleared her throat and squirmed in her seat again. “Because you’re depressed? Like Lee said?”
He snorted. “I must be depressed, right? I want to die, so what other explanation is there? That’s what they keep telling me, so it must be right. I’m sick of this fucked up world. I want out, but I’m too weak to do it myself.” He pushed the weapon toward her again. “So you’re gonna do it for me. Right?”
Kayla’s gaze shifted from Brett’s pale face to the shiny instrument of death and back again. “I…don’t know if it’s the right thing to do.”
He laughed. “I’m offering myself to you. You need a sacrifice and I want to stop hurting. Hell, I don’t even care that your devil deal is probably some kind of delusion. Who am I to judge, right? Bottom line, this solves both our problems. What do we care what’s the right thing to do? We’re past that, Kayla.”
Kayla thought, Speak for yourself, junkie.
But she was staring hard at the gun. She was thinking of that night with Red Nose, specifically that moment when she’d pressed the point of the Ripper’s dagger to the serial killer’s throat. That man had abducted her and had probably meant to kill her, yet she hadn’t been able to hurt him. So what made any part of her believe she could do this now? Brett was a lot of things. He was an addict. He was self-destructive. He was mentally ill. He was kind of a jerk. But none of these things made him a bad person. He was just a sick person. A person who might get better if by some miracle he could get the right kind of help.
She plucked the gun out of his hand.
Turns out I’m the real baddie in the room.
She stood up and pressed the barrel against his forehead.
“Do I just squeeze the trigger? What about the safety?”
“No safety. So, yeah. Just squeeze.”
Lee jumped up and kicked the chair he’d been sitting in backward so he could move out of the way. He seemed shocked that she was actually doing it. “Kayla, are you sure about this? I was serious about brainstorming all night. I’ll help you out of this somehow. Whatever it takes. I swear. But you don’t have to do this.”
“This was your idea, Lee.”
He gulped. “I know, but I never really thought--”
“Shut up.”
She started to squeeze the trigger, a sense of resignation sweeping through her as she did it. This wasn’t what she wanted. Not at all. The guilt would haunt her forever. But she was just so tired of being afraid.
This was capitulation.
Surrender.
And perhaps the worst part of it was that she didn’t feel quite as bad about it as she thought she should. All she really felt was overwhelming relief.
So it should all have ended then and there.
But before she could finish squeezing the trigger, the front door exploded inward, sending a hundred tiny fragments of wood whipping through the air.
31.
A regal-looking woman in a flowing medieval gown appeared to glide into the house through the now empty doorway. Kayla realized the gliding bit was an illusion caused by the length of the woman’s gown, which reached the floor and hid her feet from view, but there was also an exquisitely sinuous quality to her movements that enhanced the perception. Her movements were fluid and there wasn’t an iota of wasted motion.
It was sort of spooky.
Kayla had never seen her before, but this could only be one person.
“Bathory.”
The woman smiled as she came to a stop in the approximate center of the room. “Kayla Monroe. How nice to meet you..” Her head stayed perfectly still while her eyes flicked up and down in their sockets, inspecting Kayla head to toe in a deliberate, vaguely insidious way. “My, you are every inch as lovely as Lucifer described.”
“Um…thanks.”
Kayla kept her focus on the countess, holding her head perfectly still in unconscious imitation of the other woman. She didn’t believe Bathory was a threat to her personal safety, but the woman exuded menace from her every pore, despite being unarmed and, as far as Kayla could tell, having come alone. It was not immediately clear how she could pulverize a h
eavy wooden door so easily, which only added to an overall impression of danger on an epic scale.
Lee and Brett were, not unexpectedly, freaking the fuck out.
Lee had hit the deck the moment the door exploded, but he was on his feet again and hovering within grabbing distance of Kayla, close enough for her to track him with her peripheral vision. He was shaking uncontrollably. Brett had crashed onto the coffee table, knocking dozens of bottles and cans to the floor. He was still sprawled over the table, gaping in wide-eyed terror at the intruder in his home. Lee at least had some sense of what was happening, but his friend did not. Brett believed her story about the devil was either a delusion or an outright lie, so his initial assessment of this bit of drama wouldn’t connect what was happening now with anything she’d told him.
And that made Kayla nervous.
He was a wild card she couldn’t control. A wild card with suicidal impulses and a perpetually altered consciousness.
Lee, however, she could possibly do something about.
She grabbed him by a wrist and squeezed as hard as she could. “Calm down.”
Bathory’s lips twisted in a wry smile. “You should listen to her, Lee.”
Lee glanced at Kayla. “How does she know my name?”
“Oh, I know many things, young Mr. Stanley.” Bathory’s eyes glittered with predatory amusement. “For instance, I know you committed several acts of arson when you were younger.”
“How the hell do you know that?”
Bathory smirked. “Let’s just say I have my sources. Your bout with pyromania in your adolescence is of little interest to me. However, another piece of information I’ve obtained is of interest to me and as well as my employer. I’m told you are responsible for Miss Monroe’s presence here today.” Her tone shifted, taking on the stern, accusatory cadence of a trial lawyer. “Is that correct, Mr. Stanley?”
Lee was trembling harder now, his instincts wisely interpreting Bathory’s shift in demeanor as dangerous. As a threat. “I…I…”
Kayla felt embarrassed for him. He was stammering like a misbehaving schoolboy being scolded by his teacher. Then again, how else was he supposed to react? Bathory wasn’t any ordinary authority figure. She was an emissary of hell. She was an infamous mass murderer and notorious butcher. Lee was a smart guy. A well-read guy. He would know the basic facts about her deeds as a mortal woman. That shit was scary enough. Add in an assload of superpowers bestowed upon her by the devil and what you actually had here was nothing less than the scariest bitch to ever walk the face of the earth.
Standing six feet away.
No, she couldn’t blame Lee for his terror at all.
She was kind of surprised he wasn’t pissing his pants.
Anyway…
“Coming here was his idea, but so what?” Kayla was only mildly surprised by the lack of fear in her own voice. Multiple close encounters with bloodthirsty killers over the last few days probably had something to do with that. “I agreed to it and that’s the real reason we’re here. What’s the problem anyway? I’m just trying to do what your boss wants me to do.”
Brett groaned and pushed himself off the table. Still more bottles and cans tumbled from the table and hit the floor. “Who the fuck is this bitch and what’s she doing in my house?”
One of Bathory’s eyebrows twitched.
Kayla gulped.
Uh-oh.
Bathory turned in Brett’s direction, causing the hem of her long dress to swish across the dusty hardwood floor. “What did you say to me?”
Lee abruptly stopped shaking. “Brett, shut up.”
Brett scowled. “Fuck you, man. Nobody tells me what to do in my fucking house. As for you, Ren Faire skank, I’ll ask you one more time--who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house?”
Bathory’s eye twitched again. The other one this time.
Kayla and Lee exchanged a worried look.
This is not good.
Kayla tried to reason with Bathory again. “Please don’t hurt him. He’s innocent. Not to mention borderline brain dead already from doing epic amounts of drugs all the time.”
Brett shot an offended look at her. “Hey--”
“Shut up. You know it’s true.” Kayla kept looking right at Bathory. “This guy’s not worth your time. He’s beneath you.”
Bathory’s head swiveled slowly toward her, her expression almost serene now. Her eyes had stopped doing that troublesome twitching thing. “You’re right, of course. I’m curious, however. Why the concern for this rodent? According to the information I’ve received, you came here to kill him yourself. Correct?”
“I…”
Kayla frowned.
She didn’t have a good answer for that.
Quick, think!
Lee cleared his throat. “She couldn’t go through with it. She talked herself into thinking maybe she could because of the deal with your boss. But in the end, she just couldn’t do it. Because she’s better than that. You assholes from hell have no idea how strong she really is.”
Kayla looked at him in wide-eyed surprise, her eyes misting a little at the firm set of his jaw. He almost sounded like he really believed what he was saying, despite the fact that he’d been standing right here as she placed the gun to Brett’s head. She felt a sharp stab of guilt. This guy she’d ridiculed and snubbed so often thought more highly of her than she thought of herself.
God knows why…
No one said anything for quite a few moments. The only sounds in the room were the sludgy doom metal emanating from the stereo and their own breathing. During this time, it was hard not to focus on the beat of the music. The sound seemed so much bigger and more oppressive in the absence of any chatter.
Bathory placed a hand lightly to her temple. “I would like this noise to stop.”
Brett snorted. “My house, my rules. Music stays on.”
Shit.
How fucking stupid could one guy be?
Bathory looked at him. “Oh? Is that final, then?”
“Damn right.”
Bathory smiled.
Kayla tensed, tightening her grip on Lee’s wrist again. She didn’t know what was coming, not exactly, just that it would be bad.
Bathory lifted an arm, crooking her hand vaguely in Brett’s direction. Then she swept her arm outward in a violent motion. Brett was lifted off his feet by some invisible force and sent flying across the room. He crashed into the stereo cabinet, bounced off it, and hit the floor hard, howling in pain. The cabinet fell apart, separating the components of the old system and bringing the music to a sudden, squelching stop.
Lee shrieked.
Kayla let go of his wrist and looked at Bathory. “Please. Enough, okay? I still don’t get what the problem is here, but I think we understand now that you don’t approve, so we’ll just leave. Okay?”
Instead of answering immediately, Bathory lifted her arm again, turning her palm upward. She flexed her curled fingers and Brett lifted off the floor again and came flying toward her. The force guided by Bathory’s fingers set him on his feet in front of her. She seized him by the throat with one hand and turned him so that he was facing them. His eyes bulged and he tried to speak, but all that came out was an unintelligible gurgle.
Bathory sighed and spoke in a calm tone: “You stupid children. I’ll explain the problem here, Miss Monroe. Frankly, I’m disappointed in you for not understanding it intuitively from the outset.” Brett flailed and tried to twist out of her grip, but she kept him firmly in place with little apparent effort. “Lucifer told you to select someone in good health. Someone not sick.”
Kayla frowned. “But…he’s not sick. Not physically. The devil only told me not to take someone close to death.”
“Did it not occur to you that a mentally ill person who courts death daily would also not be acceptable?” Bathory shook her head. “In case this was not clear to you originally, understand now that you are not to seek release from your contract via what you perceive as lo
opholes. Normally something like this would be grounds for terminating the contract and claiming your soul immediately, but there is still something about you that appeals to me, Miss Monroe. You get one last chance. There is, however, a condition.”
Of course there is. There’s always a condition.
Kayla sighed. “Tell me.”
Bathory lifted Brett off the ground by his neck. His bare feet flailed and kicked in midair for a moment before she heaved him away from her with a careless flick of her hand. He went sailing over the coffee table and slammed headfirst into the wall behind the couch. The crack of his skull against the wall made Kayla wince and fear for the worst, but Brett’s howl of agony after he collapsed to the couch told her he was still alive.
Bathory noted Kayla’s concern. “Do not worry about him. If I wanted him dead, he would be dead. He will survive and continue his work for Lucifer.”
Kayla did a double-take. “His what?”
Bathory smiled and touched the jewel at the center of the lace choker encircling her slender neck. The jewel flashed brightly for a moment then dimmed again. “Lucifer has his hand in the illegal drug trade. That shouldn’t surprise you. Addiction feeds despair and suffering, after all.”
“Hold on. You mean all that crazy shit they were talking about the devil is true? And I work for the motherfucker?” A look of disgust twisted Brett’s hawkish features. He looked at Kayla. “You’ve still got the gun. Shoot me, bitch. Shoot me now.”
Bathory rolled her eyes. “Oh, please.”
She waved an arm and the gun flew from Kayla’s hand and skittered across the floor.
Kayla stared at her empty hand in amazement. She’d already seen what Bathory could do, but she’d felt a vague detachment from that. It’d been like watching a scene from a 3-D movie. But now Bathory had used the same invisible force to snatch a physical object from her grip, which drove home the reality and made her much more aware of how vulnerable she was in this woman’s presence.
The jewel attached to Bathory’s choker was glowing again. It dimmed and went dark as she stared at it. Bathory fingered the jewel again and smiled. “I see you’ve noticed my hellfire pendant.”