by E. A. Copen
I almost dropped Remy’s bottle. Armageddon.
The battle for souls at the end of time.
The end of the world.
I knew it was a possibility, but I had been thinking more in terms of the Norse Ragnarök with Loki on one side and all the other gods on the other. Gods, I could stop. It wouldn’t be easy, but it wouldn’t be impossible. To end that, all I’d have to do was put an end to Loki. His quest for vengeance may have been justified, but I couldn’t let it swallow the world.
This was different. I had no idea how to stop angels and demons. Armageddon was so far above my pay grade; I didn’t even know how to begin to prepare a plan.
“I-I don’t understand,” I stammered. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I’m sure we can just put someone in charge down there or talk to Michael and straighten things out.”
Moses tilted his head back and laughed. “Oh, son, the thing you’ve got to realize is that once Michael gets a bug in his bonnet to do something, he does it. Ain’t no talking him down.”
“Well, what do you want me to do about it, Moses? I can’t stop the freaking apocalypse!”
“Ain’t much you can do about that.” He leaned forward and placed his coffee cup on the coffee table next to an old gaming magazine. “Not by yourself anyway. With Loki doing his thing, and Michael gearing up to do his, demons fighting in hell…” He shook his head. “Things don’t look good for humanity. To make matters worse, word around town is that there are Titans lose in the world.”
Dammit, that was my fault too. Another thing I had screwed up. Just once, I wanted to finish a job without making things worse. At least I could do something about the god war and the Titans.
I pulled the bottle away and shifted Remy to my shoulder to burp her. “What do you know about the Titans?”
“Ancient monsters,” he said, “feared by everyone. They’re one of the few things that can kill gods aside from a Horseman. In the right context, they can kill me too. As soon as I heard there might be some here, I went looking. Couldn’t find a comprehensive list of all the Titans, though. Only person who would have that would be Hades, and I’ve got no way to contact him.”
I didn’t know how to contact Hades either. He’d said I should talk to him if I needed anything, and after I’d helped him repel Poseidon’s invasion, he kind of owed me. The thought of descending into the Greek underworld again made me shiver. I’d died enough times lately. Not again.
But there were other ways of getting a message to the Underworld. I just needed the right messenger.
“I might be able to get a list,” I told Moses. “Might take a day or two, though. In the meantime, I need you to do something for me.”
“Me?” He tilted his head. “What?”
“This case that Emma picked up, the murder-suicide. You know it?”
“Sad case.” He shook his head and stuck out his bottom lip. “Man’s a pillar of the community one day, loving father. Caring husband. Goes to church on Sunday even. Then the next, he’s murdered his two young children and his wife before hanging himself, earning him a spot in damnation. I’ll never understand it.”
“Might not be his fault.”
Moses’ head jerked up. “What do you mean?”
I explained everything I’d found talking to Holzgrief’s ghost, and that another victim had also been a member of the coven. I left out everything about my dad and that I’d been having nightmares too. If I told him all that, he might get involved and take over investigating himself. I didn’t need angels poking around in my life and family history. Josiah said they were bad news.
I liked Moses, but that was when I thought he was just a grandfatherly cop with an itchy trigger finger. Now that I knew he was one of the most powerful beings in the universe, sent to spy on humans, I couldn’t bring myself to trust him. Not with personal information anyway.
“There’s at least one more member of the coven,” I continued. “Someone named Tim. I asked Emma if there was a Tim associated with the Holzgriefs, but she wouldn’t tell me.”
Moses folded his arms and grunted. “And here I thought you two were sleeping together.”
“I wish,” I said with a sigh. “But even if we were, you know how she is. Cop first. Family second. Everything else a distant third.”
He nodded slowly, understanding. “Well, technically, I ain’t supposed to hand over that information either.”
“You want me to cooperate and keep in contact, don’t you? This is my price. You scratch my back, I get yours.”
Moses pursed his lips and considered his coffee cup in silence. He had to see the benefits of having a Horseman’s cooperation. I was supposed to stay neutral, so I couldn’t fight alongside him, but I sure as hell didn’t plan on sitting on the sidelines while angels, demons, and gods duked it out at the end of the world.
He unfolded his arms, slapped his legs, and stood. “All right. Give me five minutes to make a call, and I’ll have the name for you, but you can’t tell nobody you got it from me.”
“Absolutely.” I made a zipping gesture across my lips. “My lips are sealed.”
Moses nodded, fished out his cell phone, and stepped out the front door.
Chapter Ten
It was two in the morning by the time I stood outside the quaint shotgun-style house in Lakeview registered to a Timothy Meeks. Tree boughs drooped, leaning over the front porch like protective arms. Small piles of wet leaves lay raked around the yard, and one of those inflatable turkeys sat near the porch, leaning in the gentle wind.
I’d had no one to watch Remy at that hour since I didn’t trust Moses, so I brought her with me. The car ride had helped her fall asleep, at least, though she seemed to be sleeping in fits. If her dreams were anything like mine had been, it was no wonder.
Given the hour, I couldn’t just walk up to the front porch and ring the doorbell. All the lights were out, suggesting the family was asleep. Just being asleep put them in danger. I had no proof Tim was being targeted by the nightmare monster, and no reason to roust him out of his house. I thought about getting out to see if I could set off his car alarm, but I was worried he’d just call the police. That or come out shooting.
Lakeview was a nice neighborhood populated by people of the upper-middle-income bracket. Most people in the area had the means to get out of the city before Katrina hit, though the levy failure on 17th Street meant the neighborhood took significant damage. In the decade that followed, people rebuilt. Faster here than in other neighborhoods, but the scars were everywhere.
With that in mind, people had become really protective of their stuff, homes included. I read about people getting shot every other day it seemed like, and I didn’t want to add myself to their number, so I stayed in the car. Until I had a reason to intrude, I just had to sit on my hands. Stakeouts sucked.
At least I’d thought to bring coffee.
I picked up the cup of thick, sludge-like coffee and gulped more of it down before shoving a mint in my mouth. I’d read somewhere that those things helped keep you awake too. As tired as I was, I was willing to try anything.
My breath had fogged the windshield, so I reached up and wiped a sleeve over it, clearing the thin fog from the glass. Across the street, the Meeks house stayed dark and silent.
What am I doing here? He’s probably going to look out the window, see my dented-up car, and think I’m a stalker or something and call the cops. I should’ve just waited until morning. Except that if I had, it might’ve been too late. Tim Meeks could kill his family that night, and I’d hate myself in the morning for letting it happen. Not that I could do anything about it from the car. Unless he did it right in front of the window or in the yard, I’d still never know.
A light flipped on in one of the lower rooms, the orange glow illuminating a patch of grass in the side yard. Somewhere in the neighborhood, a dog barked. Distant sirens called. I couldn’t tell what room it was, but chances were good it was the bathroom. One of the Meeks had probably wande
red down in the middle of the night to go. At least, that’s all I hoped it was. As much as I wanted to justify my being there, I didn’t want anything bad to happen.
Something passed in front of the window in the front room, a large shadow shaped like a man. The light was still on in the bathroom, but no one had turned on the living room light. How many people had Moses told me lived in the Meeks house? Just Tim and Abigail. No kids.
I looked down at Remy. If something did happen, what was I going to do with her? I couldn’t leave her in the car and go running, but I didn’t want to carry her into a fight either. Being a single parent was hard. No wonder Emma was having such a tough time with this.
It’ll be easier once we’ve been together a while, I told myself, unbuckling Remy from the seat to hold her, just in case. Emma would be a great mom. She’d be fierce like Leah but not as mean. Kind of like her mom seemed to be. Probably the type of mom who always felt bad she didn’t have more time with her kids. I couldn’t imagine Emma giving up her job as a detective, not even with a new baby at home.
Whoa! Time out. I would’ve slapped myself if I wasn’t holding Remy. What was I thinking? A couple of hours ago, I was in a guest bedroom with Emma, worrying she was about to break things off, and I was thinking about kids? More kids? Oh, hell no. One was enough trouble. Besides, Emma had implied she wasn’t interested in kids.
It was way too early to even consider that. What the hell was wrong with me?
Something flashed in the corner of my eye. I jerked my head back toward the house. The orange glow in the side yard had grown, and it was moving. Smoke drifted up into the air.
Fire. The Meeks' house was on fire.
With a curse, I rushed to put Remy back in her car seat and secure her. I wasn’t taking her into a burning building, and I’d need both my hands if there was falling debris. “Stay here,” I told her and got out of the car, locking it behind me.
While crossing the street, I pulled out my cell phone and dialed emergency services.
“Nine-one-one. Where’s your emergency?”
I glanced at the mailbox as I ran past and relayed the address before telling her there was a fire and tucking the phone back into my pocket to try the doorknob. Locked. I’d have to break in, but first I would try knocking.
“Mr. Meeks!” I shouted, pounding on the door and still trying to turn the knob. “Open the door!”
No one came, and the door didn’t budge. Time for my back up plan.
The front door was made of heavy solid oak and had a deadbolt, so no chance of jimmying the lock, not without a set of tools. Best bet for getting inside in a hurry was to do it smash-and-grab style. I shrugged off my coat, wrapped it around my fist and punched through the glass in the corner of where it was set in the door. Glass shattered, and I knocked more of it out, so I didn’t slice up my arm reaching through to unlock the deadbolt on the other side.
Smoke poured through the door once I got it open, prompting me to put my coat over my mouth and nose. “Mr. Meeks! Mrs. Meeks! I’m coming in!”
No answer. Shit, I hoped I wasn’t too late.
I rushed through a comfortable looking living room with a blue jean sofa, matching armchair and a television mounted in the wall. No sign of anyone there, and no fire. Just smoke. Coughing, I followed the smoke trailing from the eat-in kitchen and found one whole wall ablaze. The flames had leaped to the ceiling, the source of the black smoke. The fire was a threat, but not as much of a threat as Tim if that thing was controlling him. While I was putting out the fire, he could kill his wife and then himself, and I’d miss my chance to stop him. I had to get to Tim first.
Something shifted behind me, and I spun around just in time to see something red flying at my face. I leaned back, narrowly avoiding being smacked in the face with a plunger swung like a baseball bat. Toilet paper still attached to the rubber end streamed by in the follow-through. The man holding the plunger was small and thin, with a pointed chin and eyes that were just a little too small for his face. He wore a white tank top and a pair of boxers with Scrooge McDuck on them diving between piles of money. Fuzzy slippers, again in the shape of the cartoon duck, adorned his feet.
His blue robe opened further as he swung the plunger at me a second time, crying, “Bah, humbug!”
I yelped and ducked. The plunger would do no serious damage, but nobody wants to get hit in the face with someone else’s used plunger, this guy included.
He swung the plunger over my head, and I tackled him to the ground. His makeshift weapon rolled away, and he blinked up at me as if seeing me for the first time. “Who the hell are you?”
“Where’s your wife?” I shouted, grabbing him by the shoulders. I was worried I’d come too late. Maybe he’d already killed her and was planning to burn up in the fire with her body.
Tim gritted his teeth. “You’ll never get her!” He balled up a fist and punched me in the gut. It was a good punch, too, one that left me doubling over. Tim pushed me off him with ease and scrambled to his feet. “God, what have you done? You set the place on fire!”
A muffled thump came from upstairs.
Tim’s head jerked toward the stairs, and he made a run for it. “Abby! Abby, darling, I’m coming!”
“God…dammit,” I ground out and slowly pushed to my feet. That hadn’t gone the way I thought it would.
I scampered up the stairs after him, trying to catch him. There was no way to tell if he was fully awake now, or still dreaming and a danger to his wife. He took a hard right at the top of the stairs and darted into a darkened bedroom with me on his heels, only to stop dead in his tracks on entering.
A woman, presumably his wife Abigail, was tied up in bed, a gag in her mouth, bleeding from several cuts to her face. She was sobbing uncontrollably through the gag, the tears streaking down her face to soak her hair. Sitting atop her big, pregnant stomach was the world’s smallest Pomeranian. It bared its teeth at Tim, squatted and barked often and loud.
“Oh, Abby!” Tim exclaimed and ran to the side of the bed to untie her.
The dog followed his movements, turning and snapping at him when he got close.
“What are you doing, Caesar? Not me!” Tim pointed a shaky finger at me. “Get him!”
“The dog knows who the real threat is,” I said, inching closer. “Step away, Tim.”
“I don’t know who you are or what you want, but get out of my house!” He reached to pull the gag out of Abigail’s mouth.
She screamed and scooted away, sobbing.
“I didn’t light that fire, Tim,” I said, coming closer. “And I didn’t tie up your wife and beat her.”
He blinked at me, his eyes still out of focus. “Yes, you did! Who else could’ve done it? I was asleep! You attacked me!”
“If you were asleep, why were you downstairs?” I pointed to his slippers. “And what are those doing on your feet?”
Tim stared at his slippered feet, rubbing his forehead. “I don’t…I can’t…”
We didn’t have time for this. The house was on fire, and I needed to get them out. While he was distracted trying to figure things out, I scooped his wife up from the bed and pulled the gag free. “Tell him. Tell him so we can get out of this burning death trap!”
She sobbed against me while the dog went crazy, backing up to protect her and snarling at Tim. “It’s true! It was you, Tim. You weren’t yourself!”
“I-I-I,” Tim stammered.
“Deal with it later! Survive now. Get your dog, and let's get out!” I carried Abigail from the room and back to the stairs.
The fire had escaped the kitchen and was now actively working on burning its way through the living room. Both sides of the stairs were on fire, making the heat and smoke on the second story near unbearable. I pushed through, doing my best to keep my head down and hers protected. Behind me, the dog whimpered. Either it had jumped off the bed and followed me, or Tim finally wrapped his head around the fact that he needed to survive first and ask questions later.
The wail of sirens sounded distant, though at least they were coming. If I hadn’t been there to call, the Meeks would’ve died in the flames. Abigail Meeks and her unborn child might’ve been gone long before that.
We burst through the front door and stumbled down from the porch to collapse on the grass. I dropped Abigail when I was close enough to the ground that she wouldn’t get hurt. My arms were burning from the effort of carrying her, and my lungs spasmed, trying to expel the smoke and soot.
Tim fell to his knees next to us, hacking while the dog fought to get out of his arms. The little four-legged critter ran straight to Abigail and licked the blood from her face.
I grabbed Tim by the shoulder and squeezed. “When they ask…you have to tell them…it was an accident. I don’t know if it’ll hold up under scrutiny, but it’s better than the truth.”
He pushed me away. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I know about the coven, Tim.” I pushed myself up, hands resting on my knees. “You were under a spell. Something’s been feeding off you and the other members of your coven.”
“Everyone else is dead!” His eyes widened as soon as he finished exclaiming it. “God, you don’t think…”
“I do, and you and your family are still in danger. But the cops and firefighters won’t get it. If they investigate, they’re going to find arson. If they look at your wife, it’s going to be domestic assault at best. Attempted murder at worst.”
“But—”
“No buts!” I barked. “Do as I say if you want to live. Trust me when I say this thing will kill you before you ever see trial.”