by Ben Reeder
“You need poles or something to get downstairs fast,” Lucas said as we tromped down to the first floor.
“Then I’d have to start wearing a cape and have a secret lair in a cave,” Dr. C said. “The cave wouldn’t be so bad, but I draw the line at capes. Besides, only Adam West could pull off wearing a cape and make it look good.”
Half an hour later, Dr. C was pulling up next to an unmarked police car in the parking lot of a convenience store on the edge of town. A little way down the road was an old U-shaped motor hotel with several semi-trucks and cars parked in the lot. Detective Collins rolled his window down as we pulled up.
“Your guy pulled in and went into room fifteen,” he said without preamble. “So far, I haven’t seen any movement, and no one’s gone in. Is he full on magickal and shit?”
“Enough to draw Furies for a broken oath,” Dr. Corwin said, getting out of the car. “Enough that I figure we need to be the first ones in.” I got out and grabbed the holster for my paintball marker.
“No argument here,” Collins said. “Brave don’t mean stupid. You need me on your six, or should I wait for you to clear this one?”
“Wait,” we said in stereo. He chuckled at us as I buckled the drop-leg holster over my belt and strapped it to my thigh.
“If he draws a Fury,” Dr. C said, “that’s attention you don’t want. It’s usually attention you don’t survive, but…well, you might. Righteous man and all that.”
“Yeah, I’ll wait, all the same. I get the feeling silver bullets won’t work on Furies.”
“Good idea. We’ll give you a yell in a moment.” He turned and started across the street.
“So, magick only?” I asked, dodging a pothole.
“Yeah, hopefully. I doubt we’re going to need more than a couple of basic spells.”
The wind shifted to bring the smell of mossy water to us, and I could see the dark green of the sludge in the swimming pool. Beige paint that probably started out closer to brown peeled away from the sides of the building, and rust dotted the V-shaped supports that ran along the edge of the concrete walkway. More than half the rooms were either boarded up or missing glass completely, with tattered drapes swaying against the dark interiors. Great if you wanted to hide a few captured girls, maybe hold them for a day or so before you killed them.
“We have got to upgrade to a better class of bad guy,” I said. “More James Bond, less Mickey Spillane, ya know?”
“I wouldn’t mind a few more exotic island hideouts,” Dr. C said. We slowed, and he lowered his voice. “I’ll check our plan at Thug-Mart. Maybe we can afford the Ninja Special Plan. I hear they’re having a sale.”
“Ninjas are good,” I said. “I’d be happy if we just went from the Basic Thug Plan to the Minion Package. At least that way…wait, do you feel that?” I asked when the hair on the back of my neck began to stand on end.
“Feel wha-…oh…that’s weird,” he said with a frown. I felt a pricking sensation in my head, and I started running for the door. Only one thing gave me that kind of harsh reaction.
“Chance, wait!” Dr. Corwin yelled.
“Someone just opened a Hellgate!” I called back. My hand came up and I called out “Obex!” the moment before I leaped into the air, twisted to one side and tucked my knees under me.
The door splintered under my shield when I hit it, but the sound of breaking wood barely registered over the blood-curdling scream that was cut off in a wet sounding gurgle. The moment I landed, black fire hit my telekinetic shield and blocked my view of the room. Fortunately, it also blocked my attacker’s view of me. While the sulfur-smelling gout of Hellfire covered my shield, I pulled my paintball gun and thumbed the release catch for the magazine that ran along the top of the gun. Sweat from the heat beaded on my forehead as I shoved the hopper of explosive rounds into my pocket and grabbed the third one back in the mag pouch on my right leg, giving a quick glance down to make sure I’d grabbed the hopper with the white tape on it. Once it clicked into place, long hours of practice had a round in the chamber without a thought.
The last of the black flames flickered out and I saw my attacker. Bright red and even brighter yellow streaks ran along chitinous, double-articulated arms that looked like saw blades along the outer edge. The extra joint gave it an insectoid look, as did the similarly segmented legs. But that was where the bug metaphor stopped. Its body was bloated like a tick, and the arms and legs disappeared into funnels of brown and red striped flesh. Oversized, lidless eyes ringed its bulbous head, and tentacles writhed around a mouth that opened four ways to reveal rows of teeth and a beak that opened to make way for a barbed tongue.
The thing’s arms were plunged into the would-be killer’s torso, and its tongue was thrust into his mouth and protruding from the back of his neck, the tip quivering. An extra pair of smaller, more human arms jutted from its sides, one hand still flickering with the aura of Hellfire. I didn’t know exactly what kind of demon it was, but I knew an Infernal foot soldier when I saw one.
Half of its eyes, or at least, all of them that I could see, focused on me. The shield spell dropped, and I raised the paintball gun.
“Good shot, ugly,” I said. “My turn.” I pulled the trigger three times, and three minor explosions blew chunks out of its torso. The demon screamed and pulled its various limbs and appendages out of the dead guy with a slurping sound. Then it spun and turned all its attention on me. Boy, did I feel special just then.
More Hellfire came at me, this time just a ball of it that I could dive under. Using my momentum, I rolled to a crouch and came up with the gun pointing a little higher this time. More holy water filled balls broke against his unholy form, and each time, the reaction was more spectacular than the one before. One of the human arms was blown off by the last blast, and the demon let out a howl that shattered the few bits of glass that were still in the room, and nearly ruptured my eardrums. I decided it was time to shut this thing up for good, so I took a moment to aim before I pulled the trigger. The ball went straight down its throat.
For a couple of seconds, it stared at me, then made a gagging sound as it tried to spit the ball back up. Then, all of the eyes went wide as its throat worked, and I could see it swallow. Its eyes turned back to me, and I pulled the trigger again. One of the tentacles around its mouth lashed out to bat the round aside, but it still burst and splashed across the right side of its face. Several eyes burst and ran down its sizzling face. I dove right again, getting further into the room and avoiding the bolt of Hellfire that flew from its remaining hand. It raised a shield, but suddenly found its right side bathed in fire. Dr. C stood in the doorway with his staff leveled at the demon. A line of white hot fire stretched from the tip of the staff to the soldier demon’s exposed flank. A quick shift brought its hand around to block the flame attack. With the wall at the back of the room behind me, I pulled the trigger and splattered chunks of his torso onto the carpet.
It raised its clawed arms and shifted its weight forward, then stopped when its torso bulged out in the middle. Both sets of knees buckled under it, and it caught itself on one clawed arm. The rounded head turned to most of its remaining eyes to face me as it pushed itself back to its feet and started forward, half of its attention on the paintball gun, the others on me. The eyes that focused on me started to glow, and I felt a demonic push against my mental defenses. It put its palm toward Dr. C and brought up a shield as it advanced, blocking another column of fire.
“Stay out…of my…head,” I growled, my teeth clenched. I dropped to one knee and put my right hand to my temple.
“Yes, fight it,” it hissed. “You know you will lose. The outcome of this contest is all but foretold.” The demon stepped forward, its face twisted into what must have been a smile. When it was only a few inches away from me, I looked up and rose to my feet.
“It was never a contest,” I said. It reared back in surprise. “I just needed you to get close enough so I could do this.” I shoved the paintball pistol into
one of the wounds I’d already made. A dozen eyes looked down and went wide the instant before I pulled the trigger.
Demons don’t die well. This one managed about half a second of screaming before it blew apart. The scream gave me just enough time to raise a shield before it exploded, and it still threw me back against the wall with enough force to make me see stars for a second. When my head cleared, I found myself in the middle of one of the few clear spots on the wall. Demon bits covered most of the room, and what wasn’t gooey was either on fire or damn close to parts that were. My knees fought me when I tried to get to my feet, but after a couple of tries, I got my feet under me and pushed myself upright.
“Chance, come on,” Dr. Corwin called to me through the smoke that was filling the room.
I nodded and staggered to the bloody body of our last prisoner. Humpty Dumpty had nothing on this guy. Most of what was supposed to be inside of him was outside, now. A charred book was clutched in his right hand, which ended about three inches below his wrist. It took a couple of shakes to get the hand free of the binding. I went to grab the duffel bag beside him, but it was half burnt already. Only the blood on the other half had kept it from burning away completely. A quick glance at what was left revealed a laundry list worth of summoning components before I stumbled through the smoke toward the bright spot that I hoped was the door. Dr. Corwin emerged on my left and pulled me toward him. A few seconds later, we emerged in sunlight, coughing and sucking in lungfuls of fresh air. Something very flammable went up behind us and we stumbled onto the asphalt.
“Definitely,” I wheezed, then coughed for a moment. “Definitely have to get better bad guys.” We heard feet pounding up, but neither of us moved. Moments later, Collins stepped into view over us, gun in one hand, his expression watchful.
“Magick, huh?” Collins grunted, holstering his pistol.
“Lots of magick,” Dr. C said. Sirens sounded in the distance. “And a demon.”
“Come on, you two,” Collins said. “We better get some distance from this place, in case a gas line goes up.” Already, people were running toward the parking lot and starting cars. We jogged across the street, dodging flying gravel from speeding cars as they left the motel’s lot.
“So, what about our guy?” Collins asked.
“A dead end,” Dr. C said. “A really dead end.”
“I managed to grab his grimoire,” I said, hold up the charred book. “It’s a little charred around the edges, but we might find something useful in it.”
“Someone sent that demon to kill our guy,” Dr. C said. “My bets are on the driver, Mr. White.”
“Sucker bet,” I said.
“You two better get the Hell out of here,” Collins said. “I’ll be by later to see what you figure out from the nonexistent piece of evidence that you didn’t take from the scene you weren’t at.”
“Right,” Dr. C said. “We were never here, we had nothing to do with this.” He led the way to his truck, and we climbed in.
“You know, I’m curious,” I said as he pulled onto the road. “If the driver did send a demon…who were the Furies after?”
Chapter 6
~ A good teacher knows when to be a harsh one ~ Proverb among wizards
The grimoire was a little charred around the edges, but a lot of it was still readable. Dr. C had banished it, and me along with it, to the scriptorium in the basement with instructions to read the whole the, front to back and no skipping to the end. Flakes of charred paper fell off the edges when I turned the page, a few sticking to the thin, white cotton gloves I wore to protect the pages from the oils in my skin, and my own tender hide from whatever might be on the pages. “For the summoning of a Daemon of Might, Whose Name is Malek-” the top of the page read. I shook my head. Most demons could do whatever people needed them to do. The problem was that Hell was one big bureaucracy that made the DMV look pretty damn efficient. Major demons didn’t like their underlings being able to amass too much power, so they assigned them specific jobs to do. Most were dead end little tasks and were hardly worth even a sliver of someone’s soul. Lifeforce from an animal was usually the most they could ask for a favor. And since most demons were prone to addiction, anything intoxicating, be it tobacco, liquor, or harder drugs like cocaine, was a pretty desirable commodity as well.
I swept the blackened flakes into the collection tray at the base of the reading desk and turned the page. Another spell to summon another demon, this one for knowledge of the future. Another page, another demon and more carbon flakes. As often as I got into fights, blew up buildings and killed evil shit, being a mage was still pretty boring most of the time.
Once I hit the first blank page, I knew I was getting close to pay dirt, though. Once I ran out of demons to summon, the next section was likely to be the group’s journal. Just like Dr. C told me to, I flipped the pages one at a time, and stopped when I came to an activation rune. It glowed under my Third Eye’s gaze, and I carefully traced its construction until I found the rune that drew magick into it to keep it going. A tiny adjustment closed the link, and the rune went dark, like a lamp I’d just switched off. Whatever they were trying to protect, I’d just pulled the plug on their security system.
Like Wiccans, demon summoners usually kept a record of specific rituals, how they went and what results they got. And when demons spoke to them? This group was absolutely meticulous about writing that down, getting both sides of the conversation. They even wrote the demons’ words in red ink. Most of it was the usual stuff, coercing reluctant demons to do what they were going to get paid for anyway. A few entries talked about where to find people and one was on where someone kept drug money. But the last entry was guarded with some kind of warding rune, something I might not have seen if I’d looked at the last few pages first. The activation rune from the first page was linked to it, and even though I’d bypassed it, there was still a danger that I might set it off. Before I turned that last page, I bound the rune to keep it from going off.
The last page was almost all in red ink, and it read like a demonic Book Of The Revelation. Behold, this, and lo, that with more than a few ‘verily’s’ thrown in for good measure. The first part mentioned something called The Rending, and the second paragraph…cut off kind of suddenly, since it was at the bottom of the page, nearest the charred section.
Seek ye the Half-Caste Chylde, for She is the ke- the last line read, but the rest was cut off by the blackened edge. I turned the page, but all that waited for me there was a single word: assured. Yeah, that was helpful. But the Rending? That term sounded familiar, but I was having a hard time placing it. I trudged upstairs, stripping the cotton gloves from my hands along the way.
“Dr. C?” I called out when I got to the kitchen. Raised voices came from the study, so I kept my lips together and padded as quietly that way as I could. Lucas was already outside the door, and he put one finger to his lips as I approached.
“Lawyer dude,” he whispered when I got closer, pointing at the door.
“No, I don’t understand your position,” Vortigern said, his voice muffled by the closed doors. “You captured them, which compromised them, and then you released them, with the full knowledge that they were in mortal danger. Their well-being became your responsibility the moment you abducted them.”
“Abducted them?” Dr. C said. His voice seemed to move as he continued. “If I hadn’t acted when I did, every single one of them would already not only be dead, their bodies would. Never. Be. Found. Not to mention, they would have killed who knows how many kids in the process. That might not mean a damn thing to you, Vortigern, but to me, to most beings with a soul, the lives of innocent children are important. I was not only within my rights to kill these pieces of shit you call clients, I was two days late in fulfilling my duty to do it. So, don’t you come into my house and tell me I have some kind of obligation to protect would-be killers.”
“But, thanks to you, they never-” Vortigern started, but he stopped with a thump against th
e door and a gurgling sound.
“You are done here,” Dr. C said. “You don’t talk. You get the Hell out of my house, and you don’t look back. Nothing else.”
“Sucker,” Vortigern choked out a moment later.
“What did you just call me?”
“I ask…I humbly plead for your protection, Wizard Corwin, on behalf of those I represent. I ask for succor and sanctuary from the Wizard of New Essex in their names.”
Lucas and I traded wide-eyed looks at that. Definitely new information. On the other side of the door, Dr. Corwin cursed, and we could hear footsteps moving away from the door.
“Acting,” he said.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“I’m the acting Wizard of New Essex. The role hasn’t been permanently filled. And I will…do everything in my power to protect your people. Now, open the door and let my apprentices in.” The pocket doors slid open to reveal a surprised looking Vortigern. He pulled at the hem of his shirt, then straightened his tie before standing aside.
“What do you have, boys?” Dr. C asked after we stopped in front of his desk.
“I found the other crime scene,” Lucas said. “But I didn’t go there, I just know where it is. Roughly.”
“I found out who the black hats are all looking for, and what their deadline is. Or at least, what it’s called. I need more info, though.”
For a moment, Dr. Corwin just sat there staring at something only he could see. Then he focused on me. “What’s the deadline and who are they looking for?”
“It’s called the Rending, and their target is the Half-Caste Chylde. The Rending sounds familiar, but I’m not sure what it’s all about or when it is.”
“Fortunately for you… and for me… I happen to know what the Rending is, and when it will occur.” We all turned to face Vortigern, who had a smile on his face that looked like he’d eaten a king-sized canary.
“Well?” Dr. Corwin prompted.