Of Saints and Sinners

by Erik Lynd

  It slammed into his back, sprawling him onto his stomach. Cold, leathery hands closed around his throat and squeezed. Pointed knees dug into his back, forcing him to arch his head up. It felt like the creature was trying to rip his head off. With his hand clamped around the loose tobacco he was at a disadvantage.

  Abigail stumbled backward and fell into the creature on his back. Both tumbled into the pale green fog.

  Silas coughed and heaved as he sucked in breath. He rolled up against the stage. He inhaled a few more times to steady his breath, then brought the tobacco to his mouth. He spoke a few words from an ancient spell and let the tobacco fall from his hand as he blew on it.

  A breeze came from behind his shoulder, pushing the fog away from him. For a moment, he could see around him in a small radius. His band mates were locked in battle with the lizards, but the momentary clearing was quickly turned the tide. Even Abigail, now that she could see her attackers, was dancing around her opponent, her daggers a blur.

  Silas could see Slim by the door; their eyes met. Slim grinned and then raised his hands. Instantly the fog returned, filling in the void.

  Damn, he needed something stronger. He was trying to think when a clawed foot caught him in the chin, sending him backward onto the stage. Stunned, he crashed into something made of metal--his stage fan.

  Silas grabbed another cigar from his pocket. Since this was sympathetic magic, increasing one of the elements, in this case wind, should increase the force of the spell. Silas switched on the fan and crushed the cigar in his hands, letting it fall as he spoke the words of the spell again. The dried tobacco was pulled from his hands and blown out into the room.

  This time it wasn’t a breeze that appeared, but a strong wind. It tore through the room and shredded the green fog as it toppled chairs and tables. With their sight restored, his band mates quickly turned the tide of their own battles. Now it was the creatures’ turn to hiss in frustration.

  In the back Slim was raising his arms again, preparing another spell Silas guessed, when he stopped and turned. The Indian was standing near with a raised wooden stick, and he was speaking, but Silas could not make the words out.

  Pain exploded in his back and he was thrown from stage once more. He landed in the middle of the floor. On stage stood the same large creature Silas had fought outside the monastery. Although similar in build, he dwarfed the other lizard creatures; his chest and arms were wrapped in scaled-covered muscles. Fire burned in his eyes and his elongated mouth parted in a tooth-lined smile. The creature’s hatred was palpable.

  Must still be embarrassed by that little dance in the alley, thought Silas, ready for the beast to pounce.

  “Coth! Retreat!” said a voice from the back of the room. Silas guessed it came from Slim.

  Coth’s eyes flickered from Silas to the back of the room. The creature hesitated and stared at Silas with hunger.

  “Coth! I said retreat!”

  Coth growled, then reached down to pick up the body of a fallen comrade with one hand. The other creatures disengaged, grabbing their dead and injured as they ran for the front and back doors, causing screams as they ran through the kitchen. They moved with inhuman speed and agility, and Silas and his band mates were too busy recovering from their wounds to try to chase them.

  The slim man at the back of the room was gone. The old Indian was putting his club through a loop in his belt. Abigail limped to Silas with a smile on her lips and claw marks on her arms and across her stomach. None of the cuts looked deep. Silas thought she never looked hotter.

  “One hell of a mosh pit, huh?” Abigail asked.

  “You should go to an Anthrax concert; makes this look like a night at the opera.”

  Mark stood up from behind the bar. Mouth open, he surveyed the destruction before his eyes stopped on Silas.

  “Everybody’s a critic,” Silas said and shrugged.

  Mark nodded his head and picked up a broom.

  “I hate fucking gangs,” Mark mumbled, clearly in shock. He would need much more than a broom to take care of this place.

  The other staff was coming out from hiding as the last of the customers made their way out the front door. Luckily no civilians had been hurt; Silas and his friends had been the only targets. Hurt patrons would have meant cops and that was one headache Silas didn’t want to deal with.

  Silas and Abigail made their way to the table. Mort was still there with his laptop clicking away as though there hadn’t just been a battle royal ten feet from where he sat.

  “Mort open that fat Vatican purse of yours and help Tom with the repairs,” Silas said as he eased himself into a seat. Every muscle ached and he was pretty sure he had cracked a few ribs. Maybe if he told Abigail, she would do the healing thing again. He would heal fast on his own, but he was pretty sure he could get into her pants if she tried something like that again.

  “Sorry Silas. I can’t let the Vatican pay for this. It would look really bad to have his Holiness linked to a cesspool like this. How would they explain a donation to a seedy bar?”

  “Fine, give them something out of my personal account to get the place up and running again.”

  Mort nodded.

  “It looks like our friend disappeared,” Mort said and nodded past Silas.

  The old Indian was gone. Then the door swung open and Steve the driver walked in looking around.

  “Damn, another fight. Did you fight another troll Mr. Robb?”

  Mort raised an eyebrow at Silas.

  “He kind of saw what happened back at the apartment. He might be one of us now,”

  “Well I can have a recruiter talk to him, maybe bring him in.”

  “For now he’s my driver and it stays that way; at least until I get my bike back.”

  “He’s had no training, and his limo isn’t even Vatican property. He works for Fast Eddie’s Limo Service for Christ’s sake.”

  “Yeah, Eddie is my brother,” Steve said.

  Mort just sighed and shook his head. “Here,” Mort reached into his bag and handed Steve a device that looked like an iPod.

  “I want you to use this device to check out every inch of that limo of yours,” Mort said.

  Steve looked at it dubiously. “How does it work?”

  “Just hold it within a foot or so of the car. Run it over the body; if it lights up come tell us,” Mort said.

  Steve nodded and headed for the door.

  “And don’t forget to run it underneath!” Mort yelled at him as he walked out the door.

  “What was that all about?” Silas asked.

  “Well, they found you , didn’t they? Even if they had spotted you at the apartment, those things didn’t follow you on foot. Most likely they tracked you somehow. I bet there is something on the limo.”

  “Come on Mort. Isn’t that a little too James Bond? I mean we are talking about monsters from the sewers here.”

  “You can find good tracking devices at your neighborhood spy outlet; even a sewer monster could get a hold of one easily,” Mort said.

  “So what’s our next move?” St. Abigail interrupted.

  “We find Michael. Make him take us to this street preacher. Got to be connected,” Silas said.

  “Do you think he is going to want to talk to you after the last time?” Abigail asked.

  “He’s just a kid. He’ll tell us what we want,” Silas said.

  “You don’t hang around kids much do you Silas?” Abigail asked. “Besides, after the last time, he’ll run the moment he sees you coming. Do you even know how to contact him?”

  “Father Deluca can probably arrange a meeting.”

  “And whatever we use to persuade him, it will only be with words. I’m not going to stand by and watch you interrogate a kid like the Gestapo.”

  “Abigail, I’m offended that you would think such a thing of me,” Silas said although he had assumed he would do exactly that.

  Steve came bursting back into the bar holding a small piece of metal in his hand
and a smile on his face.

  “Got it!”

  He held up the quarter size tracking device like a trophy. Silas snatched it from his hand and crushed it between his fingers. The iPod-like device in Steve’s other hand stopped chirping. Silas turned to Abigail.

  “These guys are more sophisticated than I had thought,” he said.

  St. Abigail grimaced. “I’m beginning to worry about what we’re going to find in the Undercity.”

  10

  Father Deluca slipped out the front door of the church and came down the steps to Silas and Abigail. This time of night the church was deserted.

  “He is in there. What happened between the two of you Silas?” Father Deluca asked.

  Silas shrugged.

  “Silas was his usual charming self when they last met,” Abigail said.

  “Well he sure hates you now. It was only because you said you might know something about what happened to his brother that he even agreed to meet with you. You sure you can’t tell me what this is all about?”

  “We will father, once we figure it out ourselves. For now it’s best you don’t know,” Abigail said.

  Father Deluca nodded his acceptance. “Remember these are my parishioners, this is my neighborhood. Please be careful.”

  “Of course, Father. I know how much this neighborhood means to you,” St. Abigail said.

  With one last stern look at Silas he walked down the steps and turned into the alley. Smoke break, thought Silas. He and Abigail entered the church.

  The church was a large, built originally in 1877. Empty pews filled the majority of the open room, which was dominated by the ornate altar and lectern. The lights were on, but they couldn’t penetrate the shadows along the outer edge of the pews.

  “Never was a big fan of these places,” Silas mumbled.

  “Well don’t do anything blasphemous,” Abigail said.

  At first they couldn’t see Michael; then Silas spotted the small head popping up from the front pew. The kid must have heard them, but his head was down. In the quiet of the church Silas could hear a quiet sobbing.

  Oh great, more water works.

  St. Abigail was already moving down the aisle, quietly so as not to disturb the kid. Silas followed, not being anywhere near as quiet. They sat on the pew next to the boy.

  “Father Deluca said you needed to talk to me? Something about my brother?” The boy asked. He looked up at them hopefully, but when his eyes focused on Silas he frowned and looked away.

  “Well, we are not sure yet, Michael. We might have found a connection in our investigation,” Abigail said.

  “Investigation? What are you, detectives?”

  “Something like that. We work for the Church.”

  He looked over at Silas and snorted. “Yeah, right.”

  “We need to know more about this street preacher you mentioned.”

  “Why? Because it’s important to your investigation now? Silas didn’t care about my problems before.”

  Silas sighed. He could see the kid had been crying. His brother was the only thing he had left in the world and now that was gone. The boy was lost, for lack of a better word. He couldn’t believe he was going to do this, but he could feel St. Abigail’s aura working on him. Perhaps he should just go with it for now. It might get them the answer they need faster.

  “Look kid,” Silas said. “I’m sorry I treated you like shit the other day. I was caught up in my job and getting impatient. I know how it can be, feeling alone in the world--no family or friends. The truth is there is some shit going on in this town and it’s bigger than your brother, bigger than any one person. If we don’t find out what’s going on and stop it quickly, a lot of people might die.”

  St. Abigail was looking at him with an unreadable expression. It made him uncomfortable and he looked away.

  “This thing that’s going to happen, you think my brother is somehow involved?”

  “Well we don’t know for sure, but this street preacher might be involved in some of the disappearances, and if he’s the reason your brother vanished, we might be able to discover what happened to him,” Abigail said.

  “So what do you need from me?”

  “This preacher, could you lead us to him? Is there some area he hangs out at?” Silas asked.

  “He walks the street a lot, usually stops in areas away from the public with some space for his gatherings. There’s an abandon warehouse that I think he uses for large meetings. That was where my brother was going that night.”

  “Where is this building?”

  “Oh no! It’s not going down like that. I tell you where it is then I go hide up somewhere, then I never see you again and never find out what happened to my brother. If you’re going, I’m going with you.”

  “Look kid, this is going to be dangerous, life and death kind of dangerous,”

  “No shit, Silas. You think I don’t know danger?”

  No, Silas didn’t think he knew this kind of danger. Street thugs and drugs were one thing, but the creatures that really roamed this city were a whole new level of fucked. But he also knew there was no way to convince this kid he might be out of his league.

  “Fine. Can you lead us to this building?”

  “Sure, but you’ll never get in. He has a couple of people always on the lookout,” Michael said and looked them up and down. “And you guys would kind of stand out.”

  “He’s right, Silas. We don’t really look like the poor and downtrodden. Any ideas?” Abigail asked.

  “Yeah, I don’t do poor and destitute very well. We can use his work against him. I might be able to come up with some sort of transmogrification.”

  “Transmogrification? Like magic?” Michael asked.

  “How do you know what transmogrification means?” Silas asked.

  “I’m not stupid. I can read and there’s this place where they dump a lot of old books in the trash. Mostly fantasy books.”

  “Well then I guess…” Silas started.

  St. Abigail grabbed his shoulder.

  “Silas can I have a word with you, alone?” She asked.

  Silas nodded and they made their way to the side of the church.

  “Silas, do you know what you are doing here? Were you going to tell him the truth?”

  “If the kid is going to help us, he’ll find out anyway,” Silas said.

  “Yeah, but this isn’t some adult with a job that can take care of himself, this isn’t some monster or creature that wants to kill us. This is a kid who lives on the street. If you lift the Pale from his eyes and show him the true world, there is no going back for him. Who will take care of him in this new world?”

  “Father Deluca…”

  “Doesn’t even know the truth himself. How can he take care of a kid that knows what’s really going on. You know how this works. Once you step through the veil there is no going back. He has no stability, no grounding to fall back on. He’s just a kid for Christ’s sake.”

  “The Inquisition Project?”

  “You would turn him over to the likes of Moreales and the Vatican? I support what we do and respect the church, but even I know it’s no place for a kid.”

  Silas looked back at the boy. Abigail was right; it would be tough on him. He would be set adrift in a world he no longer understood. But he also saw that they might not have a choice.

  “Look Abigail, look at him. I think it’s too late.”

  She too stared at Michael and he could see she saw the same thing. The kid was smart and already had some idea that something abnormal was going on.

  “He’s gonna figure it out, maybe not today, but soon. And you’re right, then he will be fucked.”

  St. Abigail just nodded, but when Silas went to sit beside the boy again she held him back.

  “Silas you promise me you won’t abandon him when this is done. There is no one for him except you.”

  “And you,” Silas said.

  “Well sure, but I need to know you are committed to watching
after him once we do this.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Sure,” Silas said waving her off.

  And why not? He could always find a babysitter for the kid after this was all over. Besides, he was pretty sure Abigail would take care of him, feminine instinct and all that.

  “Michael my boy, prepare to have your mind blown,” Silas said with a grin.

  Damn, St. Abigail was ugly!

  Silas had to turn away with a grimace. The transmogrification was almost too good. Her beautiful skin had been transformed into a leathery, wrinkled shell of what it had been. Lines deep with age covered her face and long, stringy hair, most of which had fallen out, leaving pink splotches on her scalp. Most of her teeth were gone too, the few remaining stained almost black. She looked like a hag, and having quite a few of them in Hell, Silas knew what a true hag looked like.

  “Well you don’t look like you’ll be doing the cover of GQ anytime soon, you know,” St. Abigail said.

  Silas flipped down the mirror in the back of the limo and checked himself out. He was still big, he would have had a hard time getting the magic to hide that fact, but a huge scar ran up part of his face, cutting through his hair line. The scar looked like it had not healed clean and most of his hair had fallen out around the wound. His nose looked broken--worse than normal-- and open sores covered most of his lip. His skin too was wrinkled with age and sun. He smiled, revealing several missing teeth. Frankly, he thought he looked good. He just shrugged at Abigail.

  “How long will this spell last?” She asked.

  “Not much more than a couple of hours. Transmogrification isn’t one of my specialties. I picked it up from a vampire I possessed in the thirteenth century. Did you know most young vampires can’t change their shape without help? This one had learned the spells from a sorcerer he had lured to his castle.”

  “Is sorcerer’s blood tastier?”

  “What? No, no nothing like that. The vampire was gay and thought the sorcerer was cute. Of course, the vampire’s wife was a wraith, and trust me that is one love triangle you don’t want to get in the middle of,” Silas said and then paused, caught up in the memory.