Revamped

by J. F. Lewis

  “Three o’clock,” Talbot answered.

  “Where?”

  Jill blended in against the cityscape, the dark office buildings in their power-saver modes.

  “Now two o’clock,” Talbot yelled.

  I saw him, a flash of demon backlit by the lights of the Void City Metro Bank building—its windows decorated for Christmas, tinted to make patterns: a candy cane on one side, a narrow Christmas tree on the other. Jill flittered mothlike past the alternating red and white, whipping past the corner of the building. He was too fast, too used to flying.

  “Damn it!”

  Talbot slapped my bicep. “You’ve got to get him before he makes it to another locus point.”

  “A what?”

  “J’iliol’lth is a lesser lord,” Talbot said. “A Nefario. He can only transition between this plane and his own at mystical loci, like the Lovett Building.”

  “But we just left there.”

  “Your car broke the dome. Some loci have to be amplified to function. The dome has to be in perfect condition or it won’t work.”

  “Go team!”

  We cut around the bank, swinging too wide as Talbot’s weight threw me off and I lost J’iliol’lth. Increasing my wingbeat cycle, I angled upward, giving myself a better view. Void City stretched out beneath us, a city in denial—its lights never bright enough to pierce the shadows of magic that concealed its supernatural inhabitants from their mundane neighbors—the lone city in America where creatures of the night could roam unremembered.

  “I’ve lost him,” Talbot snarled.

  “Name another place he can escape from.”

  “The Highland Towers, the…” Talbot’s words were lost in the wind as I shot toward the Highland Towers, buildings passing beneath me, cars moving along the street completely unaware of the struggle going on above their heads.

  “Do you see him?”

  “Six o’clock!” Talbot pointed and I spotted the demon and dived. He was making for Lord Phil’s snooty-ass home for the tragically upper crust, but he wheeled away as I flew at him, flying higher as he all but vanished against the night sky.

  All I had to do was get Talbot close enough to claw and bite, but J’iliol’lth knew that just as well as I did. We flew up until Void City diminished beneath us. J’iliol’lth darted into a bank of dark moisture-rich clouds and I followed, plunging blind into the billowy gray of what might soon be a storm. Maybe it meant we’d have a white Christmas, but if I couldn’t catch Jill, I wouldn’t be celebrating.

  Through a gauzy skein of clouds, I saw Void City as I’d never before seen her—all sparkling lights and wonder, from the newly refinished halls of the Ellery Academy to the condemned church that sat vacant in downtown, more castle than steepled edifice of worship. The spotlights from the Iversonian lit J’iliol’lth for one second in the sky, the light rendering him translucent. I strained up, kicking backward in the sky, raised Talbot over my head…and threw him at the demon.

  I missed.

  Talbot plunged through the night sky in an unerring arc toward the ground. He didn’t scream. Arms and legs spread to catch the winds and slow his progress, Talbot looked over his shoulder. “You better catch my ass, Eric.”

  J’iliol’lth’s laughter rang out, that same unpleasant rattle of crunching bass and high-pitched whinny. He followed me down, lighting upon the decorative cornice of a high-rise apartment building to watch. I could have gone after him then, surprised him, and let Talbot fall, but I don’t abandon my friends.

  “Try to land on your feet, mouser,” Jill crowed.

  With a muttered curse (I don’t remember which one, maybe it was several), I pushed myself as far as I could go, finding the optimum rhythm to the uber vamp’s unfamiliar wingbeat cycles, getting maximum positive and negative pressure. In my head, I pictured Talbot as Greta’s popsicle star and J’iliol’lth as my Christmas tree. I zipped through the air, seizing Talbot with my legs, carrying him at an angle to slow his fall, then angling up again in an arc. It would have been much easier with bat senses.

  The demon moved at the last instant, forcing me to skew to the left or plunge Talbot directly into the concrete that had previously served as J’iliol’lth’s perch.

  “You really suck at this, Eric,” Talbot shouted.

  “You want me to throw you at him again?”

  “No!”

  I did it anyway, twirling him in the air as if I were one of those big East German chicks competing in the hammer toss back in the ’64 Olympics. Talbot screamed that time, but it wasn’t a curse or a cry of terror, it was one name: mine. I still think he could have snagged J’iliol’lth if he’d have only reached a little harder. I went after Talbot and J’iliol’lth slowed to watch.

  Hurtling toward the ground, I caught Talbot again, moving faster. J’iliol’lth didn’t wait to see what I would do, winging it for the Highland Towers. I was accelerating again, but the demon had a head start.

  “Do. Not. Throw. Me.”

  “Just one last time.”

  “No!”

  “Fine.”

  I flew at a downward angle, letting gravity help to increase my speed. Concentrating on the feel of my wings, the ways they pushed and pulled against the air, I searched for the familiar feeling, the optimum wingbeat cycle I’d managed the first time I caught Talbot…then I was in the zone. Flying is like jazz. It has a rhythm, a beat, it changes, but when it’s done right, even the improvisations sound like they belong. In a race between a moth and a bat, the bat wins. It’s simple aerodynamics: bats are faster, more maneuverable, even more efficient.

  Realizing he could no longer outrun me, Jill began hugging the buildings, trying to shake me off, but I was used to carrying Talbot and being undead meant my stamina was not a problem.

  “Why doesn’t he set me on fire or something?” I asked Talbot.

  “He can’t. Nefarios can channel power into others, but they don’t have much of their own.”

  “He should have carried a gun,” I said.

  “Huh?”

  “It wouldn’t have hurt me much or very long, but he could have put a couple of holes in my wings…”

  We both got quiet, paranoid that having spoken of the possibility would bring it to pass.

  J’iliol’lth made it as far as the parking deck across the street from the Highland Towers before I crashed into him at full speed. Three of us—demon, vampire, and mouser—tumbled across the upper deck. Jill came up first, turning to fly when Talbot landed on him in a flash of white. Fully transformed, Talbot stood only an inch or two shorter than the uber vamp. A silver mane, matching the shock of fur at the tip of his tail, stood out in stark contrast against the thick sable fur covering the body of an anthropomorphized lion. The silver hair shimmered, casting a faint light that blended with the ambient glow emitted by Talbot’s star emerald eyes.

  J’iliol’lth screamed in pain, clutching at the now flaming shoulder into which Talbot had sunk his claws (also silver), the tips sinking down into the bone. Talbot growled, baring fangs that matched his claws, pearlescent luminance escaping his mouth.

  “Please,” Jill shouted, imploring me, not Talbot. “I’ll do anything.”

  “I already told you, Jill.” I took a step forward as Talbot ripped the wings from the demon’s back with one casual jerk of his left hand. “You get eaten.” I watched as Talbot devoured sizzling pieces of demon. I listened to the screams.

  “How did he taste?” I asked.

  “Like chicken,” Talbot answered, his mouth full.

  In spite of everything, I laughed.

  John Paul Courtney’s ghost manifested on the deck, leaning against a BMW. “Good job, son. You shouldn’t ’a made no deal with it in the first place, but you did right in the end.” He tipped his hat to me and faded away. El Alma Perdida lay on the hood of the BMW next to a western-style gun belt. “Don’t forget that I fired that bullet at Roger on good faith, son.” His voice echoed in the open air. “You remember the price.”
>
  “Ghosts.” Talbot shook his head, then went back to licking the flecks of demon from his fur.

  “What about your other five shots?” I asked my ancestor.

  “One at a time, son. Just remember the price for this one.”

  Yeah, I remembered the price: no killing Gabriella. Just as well…I didn’t want to kill her anyway. Lord Phillip had messed with her enough that as long as she left my crew alone, I had no reason to start a fight.

  The squeal of tires preceded Fang’s arrival. By the time Tabitha, Rachel, and Beatrice had climbed out of the car, Talbot had reverted to normal, bits of J’iliol’lth still trailing from his mouth. There wasn’t much left. He slurped up the last few shreds and forced himself to swallow.

  “Damn it,” Rachel snarled. “You fucking cat, if we could have imprisoned him, I might have been able to keep the pyromancy. Now, I’ll be lucky if I can light a goddam match!”

  “Good,” I whispered.

  “I knew there was a reason cats freaked me out,” Rachel said, shuddering.

  “I didn’t know how else to kill him,” Talbot explained. “It was the only way to be sure.” And that was why I’d kept Talbot with me ever since El Segundo. Oni won’t eat other demons. They have a code. They won’t even fight them. But if you have a demon that you just can’t kill, if you have to be one hundred percent sure that it’s dead and gone, a mouser is the only way to go.

  Beatrice handed me the Stone of Aeternum. Rachel picked up the gun belt and slid it around my waist. Beatrice handed me the pistol and as I holstered it, Tabitha sighed and turned away. She looked hurt, angry, unable to even meet my gaze. We had a lot to talk about and I sure as hell had things to answer for, but first I had a little unfinished business.

  39

  ERIC: BACK AT THE HIGHLAND

  Nobody bugged me when I walked into the Highland Towers. Maybe they all knew what had happened. Someone with access to the Lovett Building must have had hidden cameras on the roof, a spy, a crystal ball, even if it was just to let them know that they could rent out J’iliol’lth’s office space to some other demon. Then again, there had also been Winter’s audience. Those guys were probably tearing up the phone lines yapping, at least, the few that survived Fang’s assault and Rachel’s flambé action. I stopped off at the Rose Suite and rang the bell to be nice. Esteban answered the door, the bruises around his dark blue eyes eminently recognizable through the door slot.

  “Well, you sure heal slowly for a thrall.”

  “It seems that since my injuries were caused by an Emperor, my mistress’s healing gifts—”

  “I don’t really care, I was just being polite. I’m done now, at least when it comes to you. Where’s Gabriella?”

  “Lady Gabriella is indisposed at the—”

  I took a deep breath and spoke to him in a language I knew he’d understand: bullshit. “Tell the Lady that His Highness Eric of Void City would greatly appreciate a moment of her time. She needn’t come outside. We may even converse through the door if she so desires, but I have news of the utmost gravity and I want her to hear it from me.”

  Esteban retreated and twenty-seven seconds later, Gabriella opened the spy slot at the top of the door. “You sounded almost cordial.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” I cleared my throat. “Roger lost. He’s dead and this needs to be the end of it. Come after me or mine…threat, threat, threat…You get the idea. Stay out of my way, let it go, and I’ll try to steer clear of your business. You lost a son, but he screwed my fiancée, murdered her, and sold her soul to a demon. He destroyed my club and my movie palace, wrecked my Mustang, and tried to suck out my soul. By vampire rules, I ought to come after you, because you knew about it and because you’re his sire, but I’m willing to let bygones be bygones if you are. So—are you?”

  While she thought it over, I popped my knuckles one at a time and stared at the ceiling. “It will be as you wish, Highness.”

  “Fuckin’ A,” I told her. “I didn’t want to kill you anyway. It would have made a cowboy I know very unhappy.” She coughed and I headed up to Phillip’s place before she could say another word.

  Phillip’s door was already open and I walked right in. The old schemer was sitting at his desk writing in a journal. His pen moved with great speed upon the page, covering the blank white expanse with odd symbols and cryptic notes. He held up a finger, finished his sentence, and met my gaze. “Acta est fabula, plaudite.”

  “No, thanks, I’ll leave the applause to others.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out the Stone of Aeternum.

  “I thought you would bring this back to me.” He rose, retrieved a black case, and opened it to reveal a bunch of other little trinkets.

  “I’m not sure I’m giving it back to you,” I said.

  For the first time I got to see Phillip’s eyes glow red. It was a quick flash, but I’d seen it. Nice to know I could rattle his cage.

  “Can this thing really be used to make me immortal?” I asked.

  “It could.” He still sounded huffy. “You would need to place it inside your heart.”

  “Sounds easy.”

  “And then cure your vampirism while it was contained within.”

  “How do you suggest I do that?” I asked.

  “Violently,” Phillip purred, “the same way you do everything.”

  “I supposed I deserved that. Are we going to have a problem if I want to give it a try?”

  “If you haven’t accomplished your goal by the time I need the Stone returned to me—”

  “I’ll give it back to you. You have my word.”

  “May I do the honors?” he asked. I turned it over in my hand before passing it off to him. “Ad vitam aeternam, mi amice. Alea iacta est.” He drove his hand toward my chest, pushing the stone into place without breaking the skin. You’ve gotta love magic.

  “That was easier than the way I had planned on doing it,” I told him. “What was it you said?”

  “To eternal life, my friend,” Phillip repeated, “the die has been cast.” He winked at me. “I thought you spoke Latin.”

  “Not as well as you.”

  Phillip clapped me on the arm. “It went well, then?” he asked. “The confrontation?”

  “I’m still the walking dead,” I answered with a shrug. “I still have girl trouble, not to mention an undead car. And I’m still broke.”

  “Not exactly,” Phillip chuckled. “I’ve arranged for your identity to be reinstated. Your accounts have been reopened. I have people trying to reclaim the most sentimental of your possessions. It may take some time.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Think nothing of it. In addition, Roger’s possessions and monetary resources are to be transferred to you. I did take a small percentage of the total as a handler’s fee, but the bulk of the fortune remains.”

  “How much of a handler’s fee?” I asked.

  “Thirty-three and one-third percent,” he said, looking me over.

  “You’re a crook,” I said with a trace of amusement, “but I’ll take it.”

  “I thought you might.” He nodded. “I’ve also arranged for an additional suite of rooms here to be converted to your use. It’s the least we, the residents of Highland Towers, can do, based on the inexcusable behavior of our fellow tenant. Your Ebony is already upstairs with the children. She has awakened. I’ve sent someone to show Beatrice, Rachel, Tabitha, Magbidion and…Talbot the way to them as well.”

  “I’ll probably only stay until I rebuild the Pollux,” I told him.

  “What about your exotic dance hall?” he asked. “I always meant to go and see it.”

  Shaking my head, I withdrew the spirit warden containing Roger’s soul. “Haven’t you heard? I’ve decided to open a bowling alley instead. Seriously, I have enough girl problems without that place. Besides, Marilyn died there…it’d be too weird.”

  Phillip’s eyes followed the glowing green sphere in my hand, watching Roger’s impotent rage. “And that?” Phillip aske
d.

  I tossed it to him. “A souvenir. If I keep it, he’ll probably get loose or something. Someone will break it or one of Ebony’s kids will swallow it…I thought you could put it in a little case next to Percy’s. It could read Exhibit B.”

  Staring deep into the spirit warden, Phillip shook it vigorously and watched the perpetually burning Roger within dissipate and re-form. “Priceless. I adore it. I’ll send up something your young lady will like, a peace offering for you to give to her. We’ll speak about the other matter in a few days’ time, after you’ve settled in.”

  “What other matter?” I asked.

  “Your trip to Paris,” he said.

  “I’m going to Paris?”

  Phillip clutched his hands together. “I hope I’m not speaking out of turn, but it does make quite a romantic spot for a honeymoon.”

  “And who’s getting married?”

  “Unless I miss my guess, you are, to your young Queen, Lady Tabitha. It’s also where your sire now lives. Am I right in assuming that during your fight with Roger, you experienced no difficulties in accessing your vampiric abilities?”

  I kicked in the speed, dropped it, kicked it again. “Well, I’ll be damned,” I swore.

  “No, you won’t,” John Paul’s voice echoed.

  Phillip glanced about the room. “What was that?”

  “My conscience,” I told him.

  “That’s what one gets for asking,” he said. “The increasing reliability of your powers signifies a decline in the enchantment that shielded you from your sire, as well as the nearness of your memento mori. You’ll need to think carefully about whether or not to take the car with you when you go to Paris. The further you are from it, the greater the likelihood that you’ll begin to experience a certain amount of unreliability once more.”

  “Wait. You think I’m just going to go running after my sire just because you told me where she is?”

  “To thine own self be true.” He gazed up at me, fluttering his eyelashes. “And besides, you are a Courtney.”