Hell Freezes Over - A Quincy Harker, Demon Hunter Novella

by John G. Hartness

  The cowled not-priest reached down for me and pulled me up by my shoulders until I was at eye level. The glow coming from within his/its cowl grew until I had to shut my eyes against the brightness, but still the light hammered my lids with a relentless pounding. The priest leaned in close and put his not-face next to my ear, then whispered to me in Enochian, only this time I could understand it perfectly.

  “Prepare thyself and thy world for the coming of my children,

  For they come to usher in a new dawn.

  They shall bring the light to the darkness,

  They shall bring the fire to the water,

  They shall bring salvation to the defiled,

  They shall bring law to the evildoer,

  They shall bring order to the chaos.

  Prepare thyself, for the door is opening,

  And there shall be no return to that which was before.”

  The priest-thing released my shoulders and I dropped back to my knees at the communion rail. I lifted my head, and I was back in the Standish house, kneeling on the blood-soaked carpet in an empty room. I turned, and little Emily stood in the door staring at the bed where she died.

  “I know, sweetie, it can’t be easy coming back here. I’m trying to figure out what happened to you, so I can make it right.”

  She shook her head.

  “What, you don’t want me to figure it out?”

  She shook her head again.

  “You do want me to figure it out?

  She nodded.

  Realization hit me. “You don’t want me to try to make it right.”

  She nodded. “You just want me to stop whatever’s coming?”

  Another nod.

  “Is it going to be an earthquake?”

  Nothing.

  “A fire?”

  Nothing.

  “You don’t know?”

  Nod.

  “If we don’t know what it is, how am I supposed to stop it?” I asked, feeling my frustration grow.

  Nothing. I was never good with kids. Dead or alive. “Is there something here?” I asked.

  She nodded, so I turned my attention to the room. It looked just like it had when I was first there, peaceful except for the incredible amount of blood. There were still little evidence markers lying around the floor where my subconscious had logged every piece of evidence, but my dream-brain had cleaned them up.

  But wait, if I was dreaming, then I could bring all that evidence back, in situ as it were. I closed my eyes and focused my mind on restoring the crime scene to exactly how it had been in real life.

  There it was. Lying under the bed, mostly hidden by the puddle of gore and the frilly dust ruffle. I dropped to floor level, ignoring the blood soaking through my pants, and reached out for it. I pulled it back into the light, then sat back on my haunches to examine it. It was identical to the one I’d found on James Nettles’ dresser, except this medallion was dedicated to Saint Christopher, patron saint of travelers. But everything else was the same—the same glass beads, identical crucifix, and the same nasty spells bound to it.

  “This is what I was supposed find, isn’t it?” I turned on one knee to look back at little Emily Standish, but my perspective did that shift thing again, and I wasn’t looking at Emily from the foot of the bed, I was standing in the doorway of the bedroom, and her father was standing by her bed, a huge kitchen knife in hand.

  “No!” I shouted, and charged the room, but ran into a wall of invisible force. Darin Standish looked up at me, and his eyes were bright with glee. He knew what was coming, and he knew exactly how much he was going to enjoy it. I pounded on the barrier, but couldn’t break through. A tiny part of me still knew I was dreaming, but the rest of me didn’t care as Standish pulled his daughter up into a sitting position in bed, then nestled in behind her like he was giving her a hug. His glittering eyes never left mine as he dragged the blade across her throat, cutting almost all the way to the spine. I drew back all my strength to attack the barrier, focused my will to level it with a spell centered on my fist—

  And woke up on the floor of my bedroom, with my fist encased in Glory’s right hand.

  “Quincy, STOP!” the angel bellowed, and she put the power of The Word behind it. I froze, hand in mid-punch, and felt all the power, rage and terror drain out of me as my eyes caught sight of the crumpled Rebecca Flynn lying against the far wall, knocked out cold with a trickle of blood coming from one ear.

  Chapter 11

  “Becks!” I yelled, and ran across the room to her side. Well, in the movie in my mind, that’s what happened. What really happened was, I yelled her name and tried to run to her side and I sprawled across the carpet in my bedroom because I was lying on the floor tangled in my sheet. Then I realized that I was butt-naked, again, so I pulled the sheet around my midsection and eventually made it to Flynn’s side.

  “Becks,” I said, shaking her shoulder, trying to rouse her without doing any further damage. I turned back to Glory. “Is she all right?”

  Glory closed her eyes for a second, then opened them again. “She’s fine. Not even concussed, which is surprising given how hard you threw her against the wall.”

  I gaped at her. “Wait, what? I did this?”

  “Do you see anyone else here, Q? I’m an angel, I don’t kick human’s asses unless they really deserve it. Like murderers, televangelists, or you, almost every day.”

  I shook Flynn’s shoulder again, then sent a tendril of thought out to her. Flynn, you in there?

  Fuck, my head hurts. What did you hit me with?

  Yeah, sorry about that. I was having a nightmare.

  I know.

  “You know?” I was so surprised I spoke out loud.

  “No screaming,” Flynn groaned. Her eyes fluttered open, and she immediately raised a hand to cover them from the light.

  “Obscures,” I said, and gestured toward the ceiling light. It popped and the room fell into darkness. I heard broken glass tinkle against the inside of the light fixture.

  “Oops,” I said. “I’ll get that later. Rebecca, are you okay?” I turned back to my partner/police liaison, who was trying to pull herself into more of a sitting position against the wall, with little effect.

  “You wanna sit up?” I asked. She nodded and I got up on my knees. I leaned forward, put my hands under her armpits, and lifted her into a sitting position.

  “Better?” I asked.

  Flynn nodded, then giggled a little.

  “What?” I asked.

  She pointedly looked down, then raised her eyebrows. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this. People will talk,” she said with a little laugh.

  “Don’t worry, the secret of your torrid affair is safe with me,” Glory said. “But really, Q, put that thing away before you put someone’s eye out.”

  “Leave me alone, angel. I’ve gotta piss. Something you wouldn’t know anything about, existing on rainbows and good wishes like you do.” I stood up, holding the sheet around my waist, and walked back to my dresser. I pulled out clean underwear and picked up the jeans I wore the day before off the floor.

  “You okay for a second, Becks?” I asked.

  “Yeah, do what you gotta do.” She waved me off from the floor.

  I nodded and walked into he bathroom, leaving the sheet at the door. I took care of business, then washed my hands and face. I stared into the mirror for a long moment, looking deep into my own eyes.

  What the fuck are you doing, Harker? I asked myself. I worked hard to keep my thoughts on lockdown, what with my connection to Flynn being enhanced by proximity. You know you can’t touch her. She’s human, and that never ends well for anyone. Luke would kill you just so you wouldn’t go through it again. And God himself only knows what Glory would have to say about it. I stood there a minute longer, until I felt like I had control of my emotions, then I pulled on my boxers and jeans and stepped out into my bedroom.

  Glory and Flynn were sitting on the end of the bed, Glory holding a glass of wa
ter and patting Flynn on the back. I walked into the room and leaned against my dresser.

  “Good morning, Detective Flynn, so nice of you to stop by,” I said. “Again.”

  She looked up at me and gave me a little wave. “Hi.”

  “We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” I said.

  “No shit, Sherlock,” Flynn replied.

  “No, Rebecca, I’m serious,” I said. “This is twice you’ve come into my apartment uninvited, and twice that it’s almost gotten you killed. I don’t know how you missed it, but I have the ability to toss around pretty heavy amounts of magic, and all my dreams are awful, especially lately, since this little brat won’t stay out of my goddamn head!” I pointed to the corner of the room, where Emily Standish stood watching the proceedings in silence.

  “Harker, I’m sorry.” Flynn looked up at me and I could see her eyes were rimmed with red. “But I know exactly how bad your dreams are, because they keep waking me up. Every fucking night, I’ve got to meander through my own dreams, never knowing when I’m going to get plucked out of my subconscious and dropped into the middle of yours. And you’re right—your head is a fucked up place that I would avoid walking through if I could. But I can’t. I have no more control over this shit than I do the weather. So you might as well give me a key because if I wake up one more time from that goddamn Standish house, I’m just coming straight over here and yanking you out of your dream. And start sleeping in boxers, for Christ’s sake. I’m tired of looking at your johnson.”

  I stood there staring for a minute, then turned, pulled open the top drawer of my dresser, and grabbed a key ring. I tossed the ring to Flynn, who caught it on the fly, then just stared at it.

  “What is this?”

  “I’ll never understand women,” I said. “You asked for keys. Here’s a set of keys. But pay attention to the key ring.”

  “What’s the deal?” Flynn asked, holding up the key ring. It looked for all the world like just a ring with a pink stone hanging from a chain. Which technically, it was. It was also a little more.

  “That’s rose quartz,” I said. “That particular crystal is tuned to my magic. When you go to unlock the door, touch the crystal to the knob first. It’ll disarm any wards I might have in place, and give you a sense if I’m in the middle of a casting or a summoning. The crystal will take on different colors depending on what’s going on in here. White, blue, green, pink, yellow, purple—those are all fine. You can come in and nothing will blow up. If the stone glows red, be very careful. There’s something going on that could be dangerous. If the stone turns black, then you have a decision to make.”

  “What’s that?” Flynn asked.

  “Whether or not what’s outside with you will kill you, or destroy a significant portion of the free world. Because whatever’s going on behind the door certainly might,” I said.

  “This is not the kind of romantic passing over of the key that I’ve had with guys before,” Flynn quipped.

  “I’m still half-naked. If you’d feel more comfortable doing this after wild monkey sex, I’m sure I could oblige,” I said, probably a lot less than half-joking.

  Flynn blushed to the roots of her hair, and Glory covered her mouth to hide her laughter, albeit poorly. “I think I’ll pass,” Flynn said, then reached for the water Glory was holding and downed the rest of the glass.

  “So now what?” Flynn asked after she had her more prurient instincts under control. Or maybe they were instincts toward uncontrolled laughter. I sometimes have a hard time with modern humans.

  “Now I need Darin Standish’s rosary. It was found under the foot of his bed.” Flynn’s eyes widened, then she nodded as she remembered the dream.

  “I can get it. What do we need it for?”

  “I want to confirm that it’s the same magic that’s on the one I took from the Nettles house.”

  “Sounds like a—wait, you took evidence from a crime scene?” Flynn’s voice went up a full octave as she realized what I said.

  “That’s my cue,” Glory said, then vanished.

  “It’s not like there will ever be a trial, Becks,” I said. “Remember, the killer was also the last victim? And whatever we find out about who killed these people, we’ll never go after it in a court of law. So yeah, I grabbed Jim Nettles’ rosary. Now I need to compare it to Darin Standish’s so I can confirm the two murders are connected. Then I need to go see a man about saving a soul.”

  “Whose soul are you saving, Q?

  “My own, maybe,” I said. “Now go get me the rosary while I take a shower and get cleaned up.”

  “You have no idea what time it is, do you?” Flynn asked.

  “Remember, Becky-lass, we old farts need lot less sleep than you young whippersnappers.”

  “Well this young whippersnapper isn’t going into the office at four in the morning just so you can hocus pocus over a dead man’s rosary. It’s going to have to wait until morning. I’m going home, and I’m going to get a few more hours sleep. Then I’ll bring you the rosary.”

  “Wanna crash here?” I asked, pointing toward the bed. “I know, it looks like a bomb went off in here, but I changed the sheets like two days ago.”

  “All that talk, and now you’re trying to get me into bed,” Flynn said with a tease in her voice.

  “Don’t worry, Becks, your virtue will be intact. I’m not sleeping. I’ve got some translating to do from this dream. But if you want to grab couple hours without driving home—”

  Flynn was already barefoot, having kicked off her shoes the second I made the suggestion. “Done, Q. And thanks,” she said, pulling her sweater off over her head and moving her hands to the waistband of her pants.

  “Now shoo,” she made waving motions at me, so I grabbed a clean shirt, socks and boots, and went into the living room. I fired up the computer, started searching out Enochian texts, and tried very hard not to think about the gorgeous police detective lying in my bed not thirty feet away.

  Chapter 12

  I waited about forty-five minutes to make sure Flynn was completely out, then I put on my boots and grabbed my car keys off the table by the door. I closed the door silently behind me and pressed my thumb to the center of the knob, activating my “away” spells. Anything with even a touch of ill intent would get a nasty surprise if it tried to get through that door.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” the voice behind me asked.

  I turned and saw Glory in my hallway, leaning against a wall.

  “You should do your cone of silence thing,” I said. “Unless, of course, you want all my neighbors to hear us fight.”

  “What are we going to fight about, Q?” Glory asked.

  “About me going to wake up the priest at Our Lady and ask some difficult questions about his recently deceased parishioners,” I replied.

  “We’re not going to fight about that,” Glory said.

  “Oh, why not?”

  “Because you’re not going,” the angel said flatly.

  “Remember that whole thing about going where angels fear to tread?” I asked. “Well, that’s kind of my life’s motto, Glory. Whenever there’s something too dirty or scary or morally ambiguous for you and your lot to figure out, Harker takes care of it. Demon summoned to Earth got loose and now threatens all of creation? We can’t touch it, because a human summoned it, and humans have free will. But Harker can take care of it. Lion of Judah smoked too much ganja and let it slip that he’s the key to bringing about the Apocalypse? There’s that pesky free will again, better call Harker.

  “You see, Glory, I know exactly the limitations of what you and yours can do, because I’ve been the one pushing your boundaries for almost a century. And I know that you and your harp-playing bosses don’t want me to talk to the priest at Our Lady, so that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

  “Because no matter how much your pals upstairs might want this all swept under some supernatural rug, I made a promise. I made a promise to a little girl who died won
dering why her daddy hurt her. And I’m going to keep that promise, no matter what. So you can lead, follow, or get out of the way because I’m going to go see a man about a murder.”

  “You know I could stop you,” Glory said, the sadness writ large on her face.

  “I know you can try,” I shot back.

  “Q, please stop this before it goes too far.”

  “Too far? Eight people are dead, Glory. How much further do you want it to go? Do you want me to wait until whoever’s sucking up the magical energy of human agony and death releases it into a giant earthquake or fire or whatever? You want me to wait until the body count gets high enough for you? No dice, Glory. I’m going to go talk to this priest. And I’m either going to get some answers, or I’m going to figure out the rest of the questions.”

  “And there’s nothing I can do change your mind?” Glory asked.

  “Outside of actually fight me, no,” I said.

  “Fine,” she said, and stepped aside to leave me a clear path to the elevator. “Just be careful. I almost like you, Harker. I’d hate to have to watch you go to Hell.” Nice, my guardian angel thinks I’m going to Hell if I die. That’s reassuring.

  Half an hour later, I pulled into the parking lot of Our Lady of Eternal Comfort Catholic Church. It was still pitch dark, so I was more than a little surprised when the first door I tugged on was open. I walked through the side door right into the sanctuary, just before the altar. There were a few lights on, but not many. A silence hung heavy over the church, almost anticipatory in nature, like something I felt in London right before a bombing run was coming during the blitz. The energy was anything but peaceful, and I rubbed my arms in a vain attempt to lay the hairs down.

  I caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye and turned to see a man’s back duck into a small room at the back of the church. I saw a small green light come on over the door and realized the priest had entered the confessional. Perfect.