I got pulled off balance again, reaching out to catch myself. All I found to grab onto was the bloody stump where the ghoul's right arm had been. Both of us went down in a heap. I ended up falling into the smeared guts of the ghoul I'd shot in the head moments ago. I twisted around, trying to pull away.
The bastard had a hold of the shotgun, and I was still connected to the damn thing. Since flight wasn't an option, I pulled the Glock out and emptied the mag into the thing's stomach. It let go of the shotgun at some point and lashed out at me again. I screamed as a bloodied talon dug into the back of my hand. I dropped the Glock reflexively and rolled away, the AA12 banging against me as I did.
I stopped a few feet away and untangled myself from the sling. Swiveling, I got eyes on the ghoul. It was the larger ghoul that I'd shot before. I could still see the remnants of the shattered tooth where I'd shot it in the mouth. Its right arm was missing; nothing left but a torn and bloody stump. The damn thing must have eaten its own arm to regenerate. I'd never seen a ghoul try that, but it also wasn't completely out of the realm of possibilities.
I watched as it grabbed a handful of rent intestines from its fallen pack mate and stuffed them into its gaping maw. I picked up the AA12 and pulled the butt to my shoulder. I sighted in and dumped six rounds into its legs in less than a second. I watched as the flesh dissolved before my eyes in a bloody cloud of black filth.
When the gun finally clicked, the ghoul's legs were completely ripped free from its torso. The Hellion screamed in pain and rage, writhing on the floor, pieces of intestine spraying out of its mouth.
I lowered the AA12 and gripped it by stock. I walked up to the ghoul and put my foot on its chest.
“Go back to Hell you ugly bastard.”
With that, I spat in its stupid face and started to rain down blows with the barrel. Teeth and bones cracked and snapped as I struck its eyeless face over and over again. Blood sprayed into the air and leaked out of the side of its head as the skin split.
I continued to pound until its head was nothing but a pile of destroyed flesh and shattered bone. Dropping the shotgun, I stepped back and took a deep breath through my mouth. I could taste my blood along with the brimstone on the air. I looked down and saw that I was covered in the black ichor. I pulled a piece of what I think was stomach lining off of my shoulder and tossed it on the ground.
I walked backward until my back found a steel beam. I let myself slide down it to the ground. My heart was pounding. I slowed my breathing and tried to regain some composure. It had been a long time since I'd actually met a Hellion face to face. Hell, I hadn't shot anything that wasn't a practice target in four years.
I went to reach in my pocket and was cruelly reminded that the back of my right hand had a three-inch gash in it. I used my left hand to fish out my phone and dialed Andrej's number. The phone bouncing around in my shaking hand.
It rang once and went to voicemail. I called him again, and he picked up on the first ring.
“What?”
Not even a hello. What a prick.
“I need you to get Ajax and some of your boys and get over to the warehouse now.”
“Did you find her?”
“Yea. I also found a pack of hungry ghouls that some shitbag left in here to kill whoever came looking. He tried to seal me in with a circle.”
“Is she alive?”
I glanced back Talia. She was still strapped to a chair, wide-eyed.
“Yea.”
“Did you see wizard?”
“No.” I said. “I'm fine by the way. Just peachy. Me and the pack of Hellions are getting along great.”
“You wouldn't have called if you weren't fine.”
“It's still polite to ask you heartless bastard.”
“Is there anything else?”
Asshole.
“Yea.” I said. “I need a new gun. And you're paying for my dry cleaning.”
I hung up.
I put my head back up against the steel and took a deep breath. I needed to clean the cut on my hand. Ghouls are bottom feeders, and their claws and teeth are always covered with bacteria. I wasn't in the mood to get an infected wound that would result in an amputated hand.
I pulled myself to my feet and walked over to Talia.
“Are you alright?” I asked.
“What?”
She looked at me.
“Are you okay?”
“I think so.”
She was shouting. That made sense. I'd fired a lot of rounds. They must have echoed like hell inside the empty building. I'd be surprised if the cops didn't show up soon.
“Hold still.” I said, trying to raise my voice.
I crouched down and touched the white paint of the circle with my hand. I felt it snap. Sensation shot up my arm and twisted up the back of my neck, a wave of goose bumps rippling across my skin. My body shivered involuntarily. The circle had been strong, and my hand had a pins and needles feeling. I shook it and pulled out a knife.
“Did my father send you?” She asked.
I nodded.
“Yup.”
I slipped the knife under the zip ties on her ankles and cut them free.
“Where's Andrej?”
Typical. I just kicked serious ass, and she wants to know where the other guy is.
“On his way. I just called him.”
“Why didn't my father send him to get me?” She asked.
“Hell if I know. He's not exactly the sharing type.”
“Who are you?”
I wasn't surprised she didn't remember me. She'd been a kid the last time I'd seen her. I spent most of my time around the club, and she certainly wasn't allowed anywhere near where her father did business.
“Deckland Cain.” I said.
“You work for my father?” She asked.
“Something like that.”
I cut her hands free. She rubbed at her wrists. A gold chain jingled around her neck. There was some sort of locket on the end of it. The gold casing was about the size of a pocket watch.
I stood and helped her out of the chair.
“Hang tight. I'm going to make sure all these things are dead.”
“Give me your knife.” She said.
I looked at her, furrowing my brow. Her lip was split, and she had a shiner on her left eye. Her arms were covered in bruises. She'd put up a fight. I shrugged and flipped the knife around, holding it by the blade.
She grabbed the handle and tested the weight. She spun the blade around in her hands. She knew how to use it; that was for sure. Given who her father was, I wasn't too surprised.
I slipped a kukri free and went to work. I walked to each ghoul and hacked off their heads. The blade rang against the concrete as it struck. I had enough time to finish and start to get restless by the time Andrej showed up. He had ten guys with him. They'd shed their suits and were all wearing heavy-duty armor. They carried a variety of M4s, Remington 870s, and a pair of AA12s. Andrej had two katanas strapped to his back.
Ajax came in last. He had two other guys carrying in a variety of things he'd need to clean up the warehouse. I slipped out in the hustle and bustle. My body was aching, and my hand was killing me. I need to clean it off. I also needed a drink. A big one.
4
I drove to the Taft House, stopping long enough to get some food, gauze, and alcohol wipes for my hand. The place wasn't technically open. It was only two o'clock in the afternoon, but Jesse was up and was kind enough to let me in so I could drink. It pays to know people.
I sat on my stool and poured myself another drink. Jesse had pulled down the bottle and then went back to his apartment above the bar. He trusted me enough to pay for whatever I took, and I enjoyed the feeling of having free reign of my favorite place in the world.
It didn't matter what time of day it was once you got inside. There weren't any windows in the place, so the dim lighting meant that it always felt like it was time to drink.
I closed my eyes as I drank and tried to g
et the images of bloody floors and ghouls out of my head. It wasn't as easy as I would have hoped for. In fact, all I could see was the damn circle and the smell of dead, burned flesh. Blood magic was always bad news, and the more blood, the worse it was.
I gulped the rest of my drink and reached to pour another. I moved my right hand tenderly. The cut was cleaned and bandaged, but I didn't want to run the risk of opening it up again. I probably should have gone to get stitches, but I didn't exactly have health insurance.
A shaft of light hurtled into the room as the door opened, spotlighting a thousand specs of floating dust. I looked over, expecting to see Jesse or one of the other bartenders. Instead, I saw a gorilla-sized human in a cheap suit. Black sunglasses and spiked blonde hair sat on top of a squat head. His shoulders were massive; I wasn't sure how they fit inside of the blazer. He made audible thumps with every step he took on the old wooden floor.
Two smaller men followed him in. The last one in put his back to the wall beside the door.
Once the door closed, my eyes started to readjust to the dim lighting inside the bar. The mammoth and another smaller man were walking towards me. I could see a bulge underneath the left arm of the big man and the lookout by the door. Bodyguards.
“You boys might want to come back once the place is open. Private party right now. Invite only.” I said.
They continued walking toward me. The big man moved behind me and leaned against the wall. I could feel his presence looming three feet away. He was just out of my reach if I were to whirl around, but he was close enough to take me out in less than a second if I made a move. I was suddenly very aware of the Glock that I'd moved from the holster at my hip to the inside pocket of my jacket. I missed the shotgun already.
I turned my attention to the third man. He wasn't carrying, not that I could tell anyway. His suit looked to be about a thousand times more expensive than his companions. The dark navy blazer had thick lapels and a perfectly white dress shirt underneath. The shirt was only buttoned two-thirds of the way up, showing tanned skin and a patch of coarse hair on his chest. His leather loafers clacked loudly with each step.
The tan lenses of his sunglasses barely hid his eyes from view. Those glasses alone probably cost more than a month's worth of my rent. Definitely the guy in charge. The guy in the nicest suit is always in charge.
When he removed the glasses, his eyes were a melted chocolate color. They glistened in the dim light. His face had a deep tan, a natural one earned from time spent in the sun with good product rubbed on it. His three-day beard was black and damn near perfect. It accentuated a strong jaw. His hair was short and looked professionally styled. He was one of those guys that was so damn handsome that you couldn't help but feel jealous.
He tucked his glasses inside of his jacket and smiled. He looked completely at ease, but I couldn't help feel he was far more dangerous than either of his bodyguards. He had the look of a predator, the same one that Balthazar had. The other men were there to make people think that this man was weaker than he was. Sometimes, I regret not rolling deep wherever I go.
“It's good to finally meet you, Mr. Devereux.”
My insides froze. I felt my stomach twist into a knotted mess, and everything inside me screamed to kill him. I had to physically restrain myself from reaching into my jacket and pumping this stranger full of bullets.
No one had called me by that name in a very long time. No one in this city even knew it. When I had first arrived, I made sure to change it. Too many people wanted me dead to use my real name. I didn't have any clue who the stranger was, but I had already decided that I was going to kill him, sooner rather than later.
I don't know how much time had passed since he'd talked, but I hoped it hadn't been too much to make my response unrealistic.
“I think you have the wrong guy. Name's Cain.”
He smiled again. His teeth were too white, standing out heavily against his tanned skin.
“It is now,” He said. “However, you were born Michael Devereux in 1705. You were raised in a Venatori sanctuary outside of London with your brother. It wasn't until coming to this country that you changed your name. You will quickly learn that you cannot hide things from me, Mr. Cain. I am not like the others in this place.”
I was scared enough to shit my pants. My hands started shaking. No one outside of the Venatori knew any of that.
I had to play it cool. I had to kill him, but I had to play it cool first.
“Pretty sure we're alone here,” I said.
“Not for long.”
I tossed a glance over my shoulder at the mountain behind me. I regretted it as soon as I did. It made me look concerned. I knew that they could all sense my unease. Whoever these men were, they weren't the type you showed weakness to.
I didn't know what to say. Very few people even knew about the Venatori, much less that I had been one of them at a different time in my life. I'd never even told Balthazar about that part of my past. When he had asked how I'd learned so much about Hellions and the world of magic, I'd just told him my father was a warlock. I'd even dropped my accent when I came here. As far as anyone in the city knew, I was from America. They sure as hell didn't know I was over three hundred years old either.
I needed to think. I covered by pouring another drink. Three fingers this time. I tried to hold my hand steady, but I knew that everyone could see it shaking. That very well could have been from how much I'd already drank. It wasn't though, and everyone knew it.
“I'd offer you something, but I only I have the one glass,” I said.
He smiled again. Those white teeth, too straight to be natural. Fronts. Had to be.
“It's ok. I don't think that you'd have anything to offer to my tastes.”
Blasphemy.
“So, what brings you to the Taft House?”
“You do.”
“Well, you've found me. Suppose you can go now.”
I drank, just a sip this time. There was a chance I needed to get out of there in a hurry, and I didn't need my brain a half a second behind my body when I moved.
“I have a job for you.” He said. “I'm willing to pay a significant amount of money.”
I wasn't young enough, dumb enough, or drunk enough to believe that it was a good thing that he'd walked into the bar.
“I'm a little busy at the moment. You could call my secretary, though. I'm sure she could find some time later in the month to fit you in. You should have the number already. You know, since she’s your mom.”
The thing behind me snorted. The leader's eyes darted to him momentarily before returning to me.
“Ah yes. That bit of business with Mr. Reznik. Must be quite the job if he's willing to pay half a million for it. Especially after what happened in Minsk all those years ago.”
The street had a long memory, and he could have easily found someone to confirm that I'd worked with Balthazar on the Minsk job. To know how much I was getting paid for the job now, he'd have to have someone on the inside in Balthazar's place. The break-in at the mansion was a good sign that someone on the inside was up to something. This only confirmed that for me, and it was getting worse by the moment.
“I don't really talk about clients or jobs. Bad for business. You know, confidentiality and all.”
He smiled again. That damn smile.
“Indeed. Regardless, I think you misunderstood what I meant by me saying that I'm willing to pay you a significant amount of money for this job.”
“Sounded pretty clear to me,” I said.
“No,” He said. “You will be doing the job, Mr. Cain. It's only a matter of whether I'll be paying you a lot of money or if you'll be doing it for free.”
Three men. The man behind me was the biggest challenge. I'd have to kill him first to have any chance of shooting my way out. I could shoot through my jacket, blindly spraying rounds backward. He was big enough that I would probably hit him more times than not. I was worried that it wouldn't be enough to drop the bastard.
He was so massive that I couldn't tell if the bulk was all muscle or it he had a vest on under that suit.
From there I'd need to take out the leader. The guy at the door would have his gun out by then. I could dive over the bar or use the boss's corpse for cover.
“I suppose that would depend on the job. Mr?”
“Prufrock,” He said. “Mr. Prufrock. I'm glad that you are willing to listen to reason.”
“Never heard of you,” I said.
“Nor should you have.”
“I usually only work by referral.”
“You work for anyone with money.”
He had me there. I wasn't exactly in a financial position to turn away jobs. I didn't like everyone knowing that, though.
“What is it that you need?”
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a photo.
“The man in the photo is Jonathan Kessler. You know him by the name Glyph.”
I looked at the photo. It was a mug shot. I recognized Glyph. He looked fifteen years younger than he had the last time I'd seen him. Just a kid barely old enough to get into trouble in the first place.
“We've met,” I said.
Glyph and I had worked together several times before. Glyph was a Warder. He specialized in setting up defensive spells, fireballs that consumed someone trying to open a safe without the magical counterpoint to the spell around their neck, defensive wards against Hellions and warlocks that prevented them from entering a building. Things like that.
He'd been the one that set up the wards on Balthazar's mansion and my apartment. I had too many enemies to have to worry about someone sending a Hellion to kill me in my sleep.
“He's dead,” Prufrock said.
He pulled another picture from his jacket. This one showed a headless corpse. The hands were removed, and everything else burned.
“Damn.”
“Someone went to great lengths to make sure that the identity of the body was not determined.”
Double-Barreled Devilry: A Deckland Cain Novel Page 6