by Kyoko M
I dragged the body into the bathroom connected to Belial’s playroom and searched him. I found a secondary firearm strapped to his ankle—a standard .9mm—a pack of gum, and a link in his ear. I stripped off his body armor and strapped it on as best as I could. It would slow me down a bit, but at least I’d have a better chance of making it. I ditched the katana and kept the AK-47 and handgun instead. They wouldn’t be stealthy, but I could at least defend myself from a distance.
“Martin, check in,” the Cockney demon said over the comm-link. Martin the demon. Wow. The wonders never ceased. “Martin? Are they down there?”
After about another six seconds of silence, he spoke again. “Yin, go see if the idiot’s gotten himself killed. We’ll finish checking upstairs and then follow ya.”
“Ten-four,” a woman’s icy voice answered. Another guest to play with. Fantastic.
I hustled my way back into the den, my eyes darting around for some sort of idea. They fell across the large, dark puddle of blood in front of the staircase, slowly creeping outward in all directions. Aha.
Quickly, I knelt in front of the blood and drew a sigil in it with my fingertip, remembering every last detail I’d seen in Andrew’s journal. This sigil wasn’t for protection, but shielding. It wouldn’t last forever, but it could buy me some time.
The basement door creaked again and I retreated towards the bedroom, leaving the door cracked so I could watch. Seconds later, a short Chinese woman appeared with an Uzi clutched in her gloved hand. She crept down the steps soundlessly, scouring the room for any sign of me.
One boot hit the blood on the floor. Her entire leg caught fire. She cried out in surprise, stumbling backwards towards the landing. She thrashed around and batted the fire out, cursing in Mandarin before touching the link in her ear.
“We’ve got a problem. She’s warded the basement floor entrance with a shielding sigil. I can’t get past.”
“Bollocks,” Cockney Guy said. “How the hell’d she pull that off?”
“Martin’s blood, probably.”
“Shit. What about the grenade launcher?”
“Staircase’s too narrow. It would backfire.”
“Back door?”
“She’d hear us coming a mile away.”
“Windows?”
“Only one, and it’s next to the back door.”
“Double bollocks. Alright, time for the diplomatic approach.”
Light spilled in from the top of the staircase and then heavy footsteps thudded down the steps. Just one pair, though. Maybe he’d signaled for his Mooks to hang back.
Seconds later, a stocky blond man appeared holding an assault rifle in one hand and a lighter in the other. He lit the cigarette clutched between his thin lips and took a puff, scanning the den from the landing until he spotted my face through the cracked bedroom door.
“Mrs. O’Brien, I presume?”
I winced. Still wasn’t used to that last name. “Who are you?”
“My friends call me Balrog.”
I snorted. “Like the Lord of the Rings creature? Someone’s a little cocky.”
He grinned. “Comes with the territory, m’dear. Seems we have a bit of a problem. We need your boyfriend alive on Moloch’s orders. Don’t suppose we could negotiate?”
“Yeah, that’ll happen,” I said with a roll of my eyes. “Sorry, but I’ve been fighting you clowns for years now. I know you’re full of shit.”
“Come on, love. Not all of us. Give us Belial and we’ll leave as happy as clams. No blood, no muss, no fuss.”
“And what’s the alternative?”
His brown eyes went dead. “We’ll burn this place to the ground and you along with it.”
“Why didn’t you do that in the first place?”
“Had to catch him unaware. You know how violent an archdemon can get. Figured we’d remove the main obstacle. No offense.”
“None taken. Mind if I have a minute to mull this offer over?”
“Not at all, love.”
I kept him in my peripheral vision and glanced around the bedroom one last time. No windows, no back door, no escape. This situation was exactly what I had been hoping to avoid. Belial’s body could survive a house fire. Mine couldn’t. I didn’t have much of a choice left.
I sighed, glancing upward in a helpless gesture. “Look, I know we don’t exactly get along these days, but I could really use some help here. For old time’s sake.”
Silence. Not surprising.
Then I noticed something on the ceiling.
A sprinkler.
I scurried away from the door and climbed onto the bed. I shimmied up the bed post until I could reach it, checking to see how old it was. No dust, no rust, no signs of wear or tear.
I leapt down and scanned the wall of unmentionables, finding a small mallet that I was afraid to think about pertaining to any sexual acts. I climbed the bed post a second time and smashed a hole through the ceiling tile next to the sprinkler. I felt around until my fingers closed around a cold, damp pipe. Yes.
“Minute’s up, sweetheart,” Balrog called out.
“Just a second,” I shouted back, and then I closed my eyes and said the most powerful prayer I knew. Then I hopped on the bed and rifled through Belial’s pockets until I found his usual pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes. No lighter. Shit. I’d have to hope for one last miracle.
I returned to the door wearing my most stubborn scowl. “Alright, you win. I’ll bring him out if you swear that you’ll take him and leave.”
He grinned. “Knew you’d listen to reason. You have my word as a demon that I won’t lay a finger on you. Now let’s have him.”
“One last thing, though.”
He eyed me. “Yeah?”
I held up the cigarettes. “Got a light?”
Balrog relaxed a bit and smirked, fishing his lighter out. “Sure.”
I opened the door most of the way and he tossed it to me. I caught it and lit up a coffin nail for effect. “Thanks. One second.”
I closed the door, locked it, and tossed the cig aside. I had one foot on the bed when I noticed the empty spot where the mallet had once been. The hooks that had been holding it up appeared to be built into some kind of handle. I walked over and ran my fingers across the dual square seams in the wall. I pushed down on them and then heard something click. The wall swung inward like a door and the light revealed a closet.
A closet full of every weapon imaginable. Guns. Knives. Rocket launchers. Grenades. Swords. Cutlasses. Hell, even a flamethrower.
I glanced backward at the unconscious archdemon on the bed. “Remind me to propose to you later.”
I grabbed the first shotgun I laid eyes on—a Benelli M1014— and kept the AK-47, checking that they were both loaded. Then I heaved Belial’s motionless form into the bathroom and dumped him in the tub. I ripped the shower curtain off the rack and tucked it around him from head to toe. After locking the door, I hoisted myself on the bed one last time. I took a deep breath and then flicked the lighter on, holding it just underneath the sprinkler. About fifteen seconds later, the sprinklers came on and I heard panicked yells of agony from the den.
Showtime.
I burst into the room and opened fire.
Balrog spotted me first. He shoved Yin in front of him just as I squeezed the trigger. The first shot hit her in the upper part of her vest, but the second shot went straight through her forehead and blew out the back of her skull. Her body crumpled forward onto the sigil, but didn’t catch fire because the holy water had erased most of it.
Balrog took cover behind the staircase while I eased my way towards the open doorway to the kitchenette. “You wanna play hardcore, love? You got it.”
I heard a sharp click and then something small and ovular rolled across the hardwood floor. Oh, perfect.
I threw myself to the ground and covered my head as the grenade exploded. Luckily, the wall shielded me from most of the blast. Ears ringing, I shrugged off the debris and switched to the
AK-47. I laid down cover fire to keep him from coming around the corner.
“Fitz! Get your ass down here with that bloody grenade launcher,” Balrog barked into his mic. Ah, hell. Just what I needed right now. “The rest of you cover the exits in case she tries to run. We’re finishing this now.”
No choice. I needed something bigger than a machine gun with that grenade launcher on its way down here. I sprinted towards the bedroom, firing wildly the whole way until I hit the door. I slammed it shut and locked it, going back into the armory closet. The heavy artillery wouldn’t be enough—I needed a plan. Otherwise, they’d blow the door down and turn me into a Jackson Pollock painting.
Following a hunch, I checked the floorboards underneath me, stomping here and there until I detected a hollow spot. I knelt and felt along the seam of the right hand corner. My fingernails discovered a groove in the floor. I yanked away the wooden panel to find a hatch cut into the ground that led God-knew where, but it was still better than being a sitting duck.
I chewed my bottom lip, glancing at the closed bathroom door. If I fled, they’d take Belial to Moloch. If I stayed, they’d kill me and take him to Moloch. It was a no-win scenario. The Kobayashi Maru.
I eyed the M24 perched on the wall near my head and adopted a fiendish grin. Me and Captain Kirk.
After ditching my other guns and strapping the M24 to my back, I shut the hidden door. Just as I lowered myself into the hole, an explosion rocked through the basement. The bedroom door had been blown off its hinges and I heard chunks flying all over. I set my feet on the short ladder beneath me and shut the hatch as fast as I could, vanishing from sight.
It was cool, dark, and smelly in this hidden passageway. The ladder only had about six steps down and then my sneakers touched soil. Wherever I was seemed akin to a crawl space, its ceiling low enough that I had to crouch.
I surveyed the enclosure—which stretched the length of the thousand square foot basement—until I found a tiny door leading outside. If worse came to worst, I could haul ass out of here and maybe reach the forest before they gunned me down.
The floor above me creaked as the demons entered the room. I flicked on the flashlight built into the gun’s sights and peered upward. Spiders and roaches scattered as the spotlight hit them. I could see gaps through the floorboards. “Where’d the twat get to?” Balrog demanded.
“Couldn’t have gone far,” the demon I assumed to be Fitz replied, coughing a bit thanks to the smoke from the grenade launcher. “Where’s Belial?”
“Probably stashed him in the bathroom. Little thing like her couldn’t carry him.”
My eyebrow twitched. Little? I was average height, dammit. The nerve of some people.
Footsteps heading away from the bedroom door now, towards the bathroom. I eased my way over to where I saw that the light was blocked out by the demon’s body. I aimed carefully. One shot at this, Amador. Make it count.
I pulled the trigger twice in rapid succession. Fitz never even cried out. A heavy thump resounded above me and then Balrog came running back, cursing up a storm.
“Where are you?” he roared, firing his assault rifle. None of the bullets were aimed at the floor. He hadn’t seen the trajectory of my bullets just yet. Still, he was moving around too much for me to get a lock on him.
“You think I won’t find you, love? You think I can’t smell your human stench all over this room? Do yourself a favor and show me that lovely mug of yours. I promise I’ll make your death nice and quick. I’ll rip your pretty throat out and use it as a silly straw.”
Charming fellow, that Balrog. No choice. I’d have to risk it. God help me if I fail.
I jammed the barrel up against the floorboards and fired several times in his direction. He cried out at least once, but I didn’t hear his body hit the water-soaked carpet.
“There you are,” he snarled.
I ducked as bullets punched through the wood over my head. I weaved back and forth avoiding them with my head low, racing towards the crawlspace door. A bullet hit me right between the shoulder blades, protected by my borrowed Kevlar vest, but it knocked the wind out of me. I grimaced and kept going towards the sliver of daylight shining from beneath the crawl space door.
Less than a foot away, one of the bullets grazed my left calf muscle. I hit the ground screaming as fire crawled up my leg.
“She’s in the crawl space,” the demon hollered into his mic. “Get down to ground level now!”
“Ten-four,” the remaining three demons chorused.
I lay facedown in the dirt and dust, panting heavily, trying to block out the pain. Not enough time left. Get up, Amador. Get up!
I threw myself forward and smashed through the little door, limping towards the forest surrounding the backyard. I trampled through the rose bushes until I disappeared behind the tree line, dragging my injured leg behind me. It wouldn’t be long before they found me, not with me leaving a blood trail. Only one thing left to do.
Several yards away, I found an oak tree with sturdy limbs and a wide trunk. I slung the M24 across my back and climbed, biting my bottom lip to suppress whimpers of pain as I went. I made it to the canopy before I spotted the first couple demons reaching the edge of the woods. I flattened myself on a forked branch and slid the rifle back around to my hands, peeking through the scope. I adjusted it the way Myra had shown me—slowing my breathing and straining to listen to the world around me.
The nearest demon was less than six feet tall with long brown hair tied away from a severe face splotched red from holy water burns. He had a grenade launcher propped on his shoulder as he walked through the underbrush looking for me. My first finger twitched, but I didn’t shoot. Remember to adjust for wind, Myra had told me once.
I waited until his wide forehead was in the middle of my crosshairs and pulled the trigger. He went down like a ballet dancer on cue, his body laid out flat, arms spread. The link in my ear crackled once and then someone spoke.
“She got Donny,” one of the other demons said. “She’s in the back yard somewhere.”
“I swear, if one of you doesn’t kill that wench, I’ll flay you alive myself,” Balrog growled, sounding winded. He was probably carrying Belial’s body up the stairs. That gave me an idea.
It took some effort, but I heaved myself up onto a branch above me that was a bit closer to the very top of the tree. From here, I could see through the hole in the ceiling that the initial attack had left as well as the windows in the den.
A few seconds later, the dripping wet and thoroughly scalded Balrog appeared with the archdemon thrown over his uninjured shoulder. The other shoulder dripped dark red with blood. My shot in the crawlspace had hit him just below his left armpit where there was a gap in the body armor.
I took aim through the scope as he walked towards the gaping hole in the front of the house. With Belial’s body draped over him, I couldn’t make that shot without collateral damage. Looks like I’d have to gamble yet again.
I touched the link in my ear and spoke clearly. “Looking for someone?”
Balrog stilled. I watched the back of his head, keeping my finger on the trigger just in case. “The hell do you want?”
“We have a problem here. I’ve got an M24 aimed at your head and you’ve got two demons hunting me.”
He glanced to and fro in the den, scowling, but didn’t catch sight of me. “Bollocks. You’re bluffing.”
I aimed the barrel a little higher and then shot the light switch to the right of his head. He stumbled, nearly dropping Belial. “Believe me now?”
“She’s up in the trees. Why haven’t you found her yet?”
“We’ve got a blood trail here, but it’s weird,” one of the demons answered. “It’s like it’s going in a circle.”
“I don’t care if it’s a parallelogram. Find her and tear her in half!”
“Focus, Balrog,” I interrupted. “You have one last chance. Put Belial down and leave or I’ll shoot your eyeballs right out of your skull.”
“You can’t. You’ll kill him too.”
“I’d rather he die by my hand than Moloch’s. Five seconds to decide, buddy.”
“You can’t win, love. They’re gonna find you.”
“I know. I’m counting on it.”
He frowned. Then I heard sticks cracking near the base of the tree across from mine. I held my blood-smeared hand out and said, “Accendo!”
The circle of blood I’d made on the ground flashed a haunting bright red and then the two demons shielded their eyes, crying out as the light blinded them. As soon as it faded, I shot each one in the head. No more Mooks. Just me and the ringleader.
I raised the rifle again to aim at Balrog, but in the seconds it took me to kill the other two, he’d moved out of my line of sight. Shit!
“You can’t win ‘em all,” the demon laughed in my ear. “I’ll take good care of your boyfriend. I promise.”
Just as I started to climb down, I heard a baritone voice. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
Two gunshots followed. Panicked, I limped back through the yard and up to the porch that led into the house. I stopped in the doorway of the den with the M24 raised, ready to shoot the mysterious attacker, only to find someone new in my crosshairs.
Michael.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
JORDAN
I lowered the rifle, panting out, “Nice timing, pretty boy.”
“Don’t mention it.” He didn’t spare me a glance, instead kneeling next to Balrog’s dead body with a Beretta in his large hand. He no longer looked like a mummy—the bandages were all gone and his skin held a healthier color than before. He must have found time to heal himself after he woke up at the safe house. He wore a navy long-sleeved shirt, khakis, and boots, and he had a thigh strap on his right leg for the gun.
Michael rolled Belial onto his back and checked his pulse. The holy water left several patches of burnt skin over his face, neck, and hands, but he still appeared to be in one piece. Could have been a lot worse.