IGMS Issue 46

by IGMS

  "I want you to come work for me," he said.

  "You find where I hid the Pearl, you can keep it," I said. "I ain't working for you."

  His smile didn't waiver. "Don't think of me as an employer or a boss. Consider me your patron, funding your latest kleptological art piece. I merely reserve the right to . . . set some parameters for your work."

  "Sounds stifling," said I.

  "You're stubborn," Asmodeus said, "and stupid."

  The gun cracked.

  I stopped counting after the fourth bullet smashed into my thigh, but I'm pretty sure he emptied the .38's chamber into my legs and back. Then he poked his slimy, white-hot demon appendages into me and melted my flesh and bones back together. I screamed and wept and whined for him to let me die.

  He didn't. His skin-knitting left me feeling violated, guilty, and feverish. "I want you to work for me, Dennis," he said. I heard him pop the chamber open, heard the click of more bullets being loaded into it. He leaned in close to me. I didn't have the strength to cover my second sight. All them claws, them teeth, them tongues, gnashing and fondling and licking the air . . . I cringed.

  Asmodeus said, "No more small talk. You stole from me, young man. You embarrassed me. By the Throne, Beelzebub laughed at me. Lord of Flies, Grand High Emperor of Feces . . . Laughed. At. Me."

  Asmodeus pressed the barrel of the .38 against the side of my neck. It was still hot. It blistered my skin, and I tried to writhe away. He fastened a meaty hand 'round my neck and held me still.

  "Intolerable," he said. "I will be compensated. You will perform every single task I ask of you, or I will have your pet retard tortured. You'll grow sick of hearing his screams. You'll beg me to let you kill him yourself, just so you don't have to listen to his mewling any longer.

  "I'll give you the weapon to kill him. I'll let you walk up to your helpless, retarded friend, and see all the misery and pain your defiance has brought on him. But I will never let you be merciful to him, Dennis Mallory."

  I whimpered.

  "Was that a 'yes,' Dennis?"

  "One condition," I said. My throat was rough as sandpaper. His grip on me tightened, but I plowed on. "Don't call Brick a retard ever again."

  Asmodeus roared with laughter. He pulled the gun away from my neck and kept laughing as he stood hisself up. "All right. I won't insult your man's intelligence ever again. What a strange little fellow you are."

  He stowed the .38, nodding and chuckling to hisself.

  I got up slow. Too late to run for the door now.

  A couple of party boys escorted me out of Asmodeus's office, shoving me toward an elevator. One of them mashed a button for the lobby.

  "Welcome to the family, Dennis," Asmodeus called as the elevator doors opened, and his boys hustled me inside. "I'll send Shelly with the details."

  I ain't got fond memories of my family. This new one didn't look to be no improvement.

  The lobby was empty of everyone but a security guard, sitting behind a polished marble desk and a row of computer screens. The guard looked normal. No invisible rune stapled to his eyelids. He saw me standing in front of the elevator and said, "Your man is in the cafeteria. That way."

  "Thanks," said I. "Cafeteria open this time of night?"

  The guard shrugged. "No rest for the wicked. Plenty of food, though."

  I followed the guard's pointing finger, my shoes squeaking on the tile floor. My reflection walked alongside me in the sheen of his desk, and I slowed for just a second to take stock. I was a mess. And not just 'cause of the bloody t-shirt and ventilated trousers: Asmodeus's healings made me . . . gaunt. There was an edge in my eyes that hadn't been there before. Wasn't nothing anyone else would notice. Maybe no one but me.

  "This, but no more," I told the reflection.

  The cafeteria was cavernous. Wide, floor-to--eiling windows looked out on downtown streets, and the occasional businessman or woman heading home after late hours at the office. I saw Brick right off -- his back was to the entrance, his massive shoulders slumped, his big, blond head bowed. The table was overflowing with food-wrappers and soda cans.

  "You save any for me?" I asked.

  He about upset the table turning 'round. Then he throwed hisself at me, lifting me off my feet.

  "Dennis, Dennis!" he sobbed in my ear. "You are alive, you are all right!"

  I let him moan and sob and grapple me. Brick's molly-coddling was . . . well, it wasn't nothing miraculous. Didn't undo the demon's demands, nossir. But it was good. Squeezed some of the gauntness right out of me.

  "I'm all right," I said after a long bit. "No thanks to you, Brick. Next time someone sticks me in a van and punches me in the face, you can't just sit there, letting me get walloped. You gotta punch 'em back."

  Brick wiped his nose on his sleeve. "I was very angry. But you see? You are all right. You are fine!"

  "Put me down."

  He settled me beside the table. "Are you mad at me, Dennis?"

  "A little," I admitted. But this argument was old and stale. We'd been carrying it on just as long as we'd knowed each other.

  "I am sorry I let them hit you," he whispered. He gave me a funny look. "What is that on your neck, Dennis? Is it a hickey? Did Asmodeus give you a hickey?"

  He poked at the blister Asmodeus's pistol had burned on my neck. I flinched, slapped his hand away.

  "It ain't a hickey," I said. "Asmodeus stuck a hot gun-barrel against my throat. You were down here chawing away, and I'm upstairs getting shot and . . . tortured."

  "Complaining about your new boss already? It's only your first day."

  She had on different clothes -- a pair of low-rise blue jeans that made her legs look long and her hips tight, a slinky black blouse, and heels that added a good four inches to her height. But they were the same freckles, the same blond hair, and them same green eyes that'd stared me down in Asmodeus's van.

  The wretchedness hiding behind her pretty face, that was the same, too. But I had to remind myself to look for it.

  "No fighting," Brick said. "No fighting. Please. And hello, hello."

  "Hi, Brick," said I.

  The girl nodded at Brick. "Hello, Brick."

  "Hello, Dennis!" he replied. "Hello, miss. You are nice, now. Dennis, she is nice. No fighting."

  "I didn't come here to fight," the girl said.

  "Sure, Brick," I said. "No fighting."

  I smiled at her. She smiled back. Her smile was brilliant: a mouth for kissing, and a tongue, and . . .

  I punched her anyway.

  She reeled back, four-inch heels not doing nothing to help her balance. I cut in close enough to smell her perfume, and knocked her to the floor. I pinned her with a knee across her chest, one hand on her throat, and the other raised up.

  "No fighting!" Brick called.

  But it ain't hardly fighting if there's only one person throwing the punches. It was my turn to be that person, and with the girl pinned and the memories of her beating my face fresh to my mind, opportunity and motive mixed together in perfection. A new, rough, hardened part of me whispered how easy, how right it'd be. Payback for the agony she'd caused me, and for the misery that her boss had settled me into.

  But I ain't fit for mercilessness. That's what I told myself as I held her down, grasping her throat and feeling her strain her neck muscles to catch herself some air. I'll con a man, sure. Steal his last dollar, yessir. Maybe knockabout in the shadows a bit.

  But I ain't fit for mercilessness.

  Had to tell myself that a dozen times 'fore I got convinced. I picked my knee off her chest and stood up. She rolled to her feet, sucking air.

  "No fighting?" Brick said hopefully.

  "You probably think I deserved that," she said to me, and her hand flashed behind her and came forward again, bearing one of them ugly, soul-reaving pistols.

  "No, no, no," Brick moaned.

  "Your boss might fuss ''bout me getting dead on my first day," I said.

  "He's your boss, too."


  "He's my patron," I said. Lamely.

  She cocked her head, finally gave a little laugh. "I'm Shelly Ingram. You're going to help me kill Asmodeus."

  Shelly kept her weapon out.

  "Stealing the Pearl of Great Price undermined Asmodeus more than he's willing to admit. It's the perfect time to murder him," she said. "He can't petition his allies for help for fear of looking even weaker. Even his underlings . . ."

  I interrupted. "Skip to where you say something to make me trust you after you kidnapped me, beat me nearly to death, and then left me to be tortured by a King of Hell."

  Shelly arched an eyebrow and said slowly, "We are going to kill Asmodeus."

  "See? She is nice now, Dennis," Brick said. He grinned and nodded.

  Shelly gestured at Brick's table. "Let's talk."

  "You want to talk about murdering Asmodeus while sitting at a table he owns, in a cafeteria he owns, in the building he owns?"

  She laughed, scooted a chair over to the table, and began picking through Brick's leftovers. With one hand she foraged; the other held her gun. "Asmodeus knows I'm trying to kill him."

  "You ain't doing nothing for my confidence. Can't think why we'd get involved."

  "Do you think you'll enjoy being Asmodeus's little cat burglar?"

  "Are we working for Asmodeus now, Dennis?" Brick asked, frowning. "That is not right. He is not nice, Dennis. We should kill him, like Miss Shelly says."

  "It ain't so simple, Brick," I said. "Anyway, I'll figure a way out of this."

  Shelly snorted and popped a couple tater-tots into her mouth. When she finished chewing she said, "You're already starting to look like his man, Dennis."

  I refused to look at my reflection in the window.

  Shelly continued on, "While you're figuring it out, everything you do will be tainted by Asmodeus's influence. The more time you spend in his service, the easier it becomes to do what he asks. Until he asks you impossible things, and you're doing them as a matter-of-fact. Before you know it, he's leaning over your face and tonguing his rune on your eyelid. You welcome it, because you've finally 'figured it out.'"

  "Personal experience?" I asked.

  She shrugged, bit into the grilled cheese sandwich, chewed noisily. "Help me kill Asmodeus."

  "Yes," Brick said immediately. "Yes, yes."

  "We could run away," I said. "No reason to stick our necks in with yours."

  "Don't be stupid. We have wizards, oracles, and fortune-tellers. The hardest thing about snatching you up this afternoon was finding a van large enough to accommodate the rendition team. And now you're an investment, Dennis. It doesn't matter where you run; you're still Asmodeus's man."

  "You ain't said nothing 'bout why we should trust you," I said.

  "Killing Asmodeus is the only way you're going to be free of him." Shelly said. "It's not about trust."

  "I ain't that desperate."

  "I'm sorry I beat you up," she said after a second. "Does that help?"

  "Not enough for me to buddy up with you." I tapped Brick on the shoulder, motioned for him to follow 'long.

  Shelly wrapped a hand 'round my elbow, stopped me. Her fingers were warm, strong. Wasn't unpleasant at all to have her touch me. "If you change your mind, come find me here. I'm on the fifth floor. Just ask. But . . . bring the Pearl."

  I pulled away from her, disliking the thoughts that came bubbling out of the new, gauntish part of my brain. "I hope he catches you and peels your eyeballs out of your skull."

  "Asmodeus's man," she said. "It doesn't take long."

  She was right. Didn't take long at all.

  I got no excuses. I knowed what Asmodeus's game was right from the start. First job he sent our way -- robbing some reliquaries from a dinky sage's suburban rambler -- I dawdled. Gave it a long study, even though there wasn't much to the sage's security. Couple of clumsy runes and a decrepit manticore. But I put it off.

  The nightmares started. Just like Asmodeus had threatened -- torture room upon torture room, all featuring Brick. You know how many days a demon can capture inside the space of a single dream?

  Years.

  And he never let me show Brick no mercy. It got so bad, I made Brick sleep right next to me, like we was boys again, just so I could wake up and put my hand on his back, feel him there, real, living, snoring and not screaming. At first, it was a comfort. Then the new, gauntish part of me whispered the easy out to all my problems: reach over Brick's shoulder, cover his mouth with one hand and pinch his nose with the other, hug him tight as he kicked and tried to breathe.

  Be free of Brick, be free of Asmodeus, too, it whispered. 'Cause fear for him was what really kept me tied to the demon.

  We did the job. I smudged the runes, Brick killed the manticore. The nightmares stopped.

  And Asmodeus bought us a house. Fence, yard, kitchen, den, two bedrooms, one-and-a-half bathrooms . . .

  Stick. Carrot. I know how it goes. I got no excuses.

  Next job was bigger. Low-rent sorcerer was keeping a bit of dragonskin in a warehouse guarded by a pooka. Four sigils and a maze of glyphs covered the warehouse floor -- sturdy work, but nothing fantastic. I balanced the sigils. I re-wrote the glyphs. Brick put his thumbs through the pooka's eyeballs, and tore off its jaw.

  Asmodeus sent his party boys to our house to collect the dragonskin. Shelly was with them.

  "You look good, Mr. Mallory," she said. "Lean and hungry."

  I passed her the box with the dragonskin. The gaunt reminded me how easy it'd be to flip open the lid, let the dragonskin spill out onto her hands, burn them off with its perpetual heat. Same time, it also spoke how nice it'd be to touch her fingers, trail hands up her smooth skin, tangle fingers in her hair.

  I didn't do neither.

  But Shelly did. She took the box with one hand, wrapped her free hand 'round the back of my neck, and pulled me into a deep kiss. My whole body filled with gorgeous heat as her lips and tongue met my lips, my tongue. She held me still with the power of it -- nothing sorcerous, mind you, which don't mean it wasn't magical. She pressed her body 'gainst mine, strong, forceful, so close I could feel her heartbeat.

  She didn't break it off so much as let me go bit by bit, 'til our lips was barely touching, our mouths barely open to each other.

  Shelly spoke into my mouth, "Help me."

  "You ain't that good," I whispered back. It was almost a lie.

  She let go of the back of my neck and smiled. "Not long now, Mr. Mallory. Come and see me some time."

  Shelly beckoned; the rest of the party boys followed her out of the house. I stood in the doorway, still feeling the heat of her body against mine, the pull and tease of her lips and tongue. The gaunt grumbled about her white throat, the scent of shampoo, and taste, and taste . . .

  "She is nice, Dennis, hello," Brick said.

  "Hi, Brick. And no, she ain't."

  "We should work for her instead of Asmodeus. He is not nice."

  "He bought us a house. That's pretty nice."

  "She kissed you," he said.

  "I'd rather have a roof," said I. But I watched Shelly walking down the driveway and seriously questioned my druthers. I shut the door.

  "Asmodeus is wicked," Brick said. "It has been a while, I think."

  I didn't respond, but turned myself toward the kitchen.

  "Have you figured it out, Dennis?" Brick asked.

  "Obviously not," I said.

  "Have you asked anyone for help? You should ask Shelly. She is nice."

  Nice . . . What would it be like, her skin to my skin, her lips on my bare throat, my hands on her the small of her back? Not nice, maybe. What did I want with nice?

  "Dennis, we should . . ."

  "Brick, shut up," I said. "I don't want to hear any more about Shelly, or whatever stupid idea you've come up with."

  "It is not a stupid idea, Dennis, it is a good idea, and you should listen," Brick said.

  "Shut up," I said. He didn't pay me no mind -- never had. Bu
llying right through what all I wanted, never mind anything I got to say 'bout it.

  "Brick. Shut. Up," I said again.

  He yammered on. Oh, wicked Asmodeus, oh, kind Shelly, like some kind of church litany. Brick's voice mashed against the whispering gaunt. Not drowning it out at all, but filling my head with noise.

  I got no excuses.

  I pushed Brick, hard. He stumbled, and I pushed him again. But he stopped talking, so the gaunt had my brain all to itself, and what it said, I liked. What it said was right. Why shackle myself to this half-wit boy? Just for the muscle, but now what was muscle to me? I got Asmodeus and all his army of party boys. I didn't need him no more.

  "Dennis, Dennis," Brick moaned.

  "Shut up," I said, soft. "You never think about me, do you? Just go all your own way. I get kicked and punched and slapped and shot, and you don't do nothing, Brick! Ever since we been together, you don't do nothing for me. So maybe now I give you some knuckle-time. Teach you what it feels like."

  I slapped his face. He wailed. And it felt good. Oh it felt right excellent, keen and keener to see his head whip to the side and palm-and-finger marks redden his cheek.

  "No fighting, no fighting," Brick cried. He brought up his arms to cover his face.

  "Ain't a fight if there's only one person swinging," I said. I curled my hand into a fist.

  And caught sight of my reflection in the window. Gaunt, yessir, even though on Asmodeus's payroll we'd been eating better than ever. Thin, yes. Hungry, like Shelly'd said.

  I saw myself in my own eyes and with my second sight. It wasn't no real man there in the glass, fist raised up. Grey-skinned, long-limbed, and a jaw full of pointy teeth, that was what my second sight saw in me.

  I didn't mind it. Didn't look bad at all. I was dangerous, I was masterful, I was the paragon of stealth and burglary.

  The fact that I didn't mind disturbed me. Some part of me, anyway. And though it was nice to hear Brick calling uncle and begging me not to hurt him, I stopped myself. I took a step back. The gaunt egged me on and on -- slap, kick, strike, make him pay, teach him . . .

  "Hello, Dennis, hello!" Brick whined. "Hello, hello! Please, hello!"