Blessed by Fire

by P W Hillard

  “What I said not a demon. Not their style.” Lucille tossed the folder onto the floor in front of her.

  “Wanton murder, possession, over the top violence, weird magic. Sounds pretty demon like to me,” Dale said, leaning down to pick the folder up.

  “Dale, I expected better of you. For shame.” Lucille crossed her arms pouting. “Possession yes, murder well of course, violence goes without saying. This is all too sloppy. You see, the thing with demons is that they’re just like angels.”

  “Angels?” asked Dale disbelievingly.

  “Yeah angels. You know, hunky bastards, flappy wings, keen on blowing their own trumpets so to speak,” said Lucille sarcastically.

  “I know what angels are.”

  “Do you though? The male model with a trombone look is just the human idea of them. Most angels are a lot weirder, multiple headed lions, there was one I used to date that was a series of wheels spinning around each other. I mean, technically I’m an angel and I can do this.” Lucille touched her hands to her temples. Lifting her hands from her head two black gnarled goat like horns grew, their tips touching the palms of her hands. There was a scratching noise from the leather behind her and a thin tail with a sharp single talon had popped up from between her jeans and her blouse. Her skin took on a dark red colour.

  “Get to the point,” Rajan said, his patience clearly running out.

  The horns and tail vanished with a puff of grey smoke. Lucille’s skin took on its prior alabaster tone. “You’re no fun.” She poked her tongue out at Rajan. It was pierced with a silver stud. “My point is angels aren’t these glorious saviours that humans think they are. They are creatures of order. The same goes with demons. Evil bastards yes, but ultimately, they want the same thing as angels. Order. That’s what they do, angels and demons, try and keep the universe in some semblance of balance. Things get a little too goody-goody demons nudge it back the other way with a well-placed whisper or deal. Things get a little too dark the angels bump up the charity or something. Back and forth for all eternity. Two sides of the same coin. This is all chaotic, it’s born of rage and the joy of violence.” She waved at the folder. “Not a demon’s style.”

  “Right, so any idea what did do it?” questioned Dale.

  “Sure, it’s obvious.” Lucille smirked smugly.

  “Mind telling us?” Dale sighed.

  “Say please.”

  “Mind telling us, please?” repeated Dale

  “It’s a Jinn,” declared Lucille, pleased with herself.

  “That’s just another word for demon,” Rajan interjected.

  “Well, I would love to say you were right. That’s a lie. I actually love how wrong you are. Jinn are not demons. They aren’t some magic wish granting cartoon either. Jinn are a kind of, middle ground between angels and demons. Not quite either. Very dangerous. Very rare.” She leant back onto the sofa stretching her arm across the back behind Dale. “Jinn means concealed, or more commonly beings concealed from the senses. Way back when, in the fuzzy memories, they caused a whole heap of trouble. Unlike angels and demons, they only exist for themselves. Couldn’t give a hoot about order. Quite the opposite. They love chaos, causing it, being around it. They got the boot from the universe a long time ago. Too much trouble.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” asked Rajan

  “Hey! Language, I don’t go around making digs at Britain. It means what it means. They got ousted, into the in-between space between this dimension and the next, supposedly where they couldn’t make any trouble. Every so often, when the barriers between realities are already weak they can hop a ride on that metaphorical train and come over. Still don’t have a form here though, might appear as a kind of smokeless fire. That’s why it took the girl, ride her body around town like a fleshy uber.” Lucille leapt up from the sofa, startling the two men. “Tea?” she asked.

  “No thanks. What does it want?” Dale said, twisting in the sofa as Lucille walked over to the small counter.

  “It’s got to have permission to use the host, so it will probably do whatever it promised the girl first. That will probably explain the bodies. Then, once it’s done that it will probably do whatever it wants really. That’s kind of the problem. It might want a cup of tea from a café, and then midway through decide it wants to murder everyone in the café. One thing it will want is some friends. It’s going to try and bring others here.”

  “How did it get here, you said reality needed to be weak?” Rajan was holding up his phone, recording Lucille’s rambling explanation.

  “Yeah, all kinds of reasons. Could be someone deliberately doing it, could just be naturally occurring. Plenty of things lurking around the Earth that started somewhere else. Some angels think that might include us. Damned if any of us can remember clearly though. That would throw a loop in your holy books huh?” Lucille laughed to herself as she slowly dipped a teabag. “Anything else weird in the area?”

  “Yeah, there is.” Rajan nodded. “So how do we stop it?”

  “Beats me?” Lucille held her hands up.

  “Beats you?” said Dale, “You know all this, but you don’t know how to stop one?”

  “I was on ice when they got kicked out.” She took a long sip of tea. “On your own with that one lads. Now I’ve enjoyed our chat, especially with you Dale, but I need to get back to work. Anything else?”

  “Think she’s telling the truth?” said Dale as they went through the door back into the bar.

  “No way. Not in a million years.” Rajan stroked his beard. “I think she’s probably telling the truth on what this Jinn thing, but she knows how to stop them. There’s no way she doesn’t. Plus, she isn’t exactly known for honesty.”

  “Well, our job here is done anyway. Let’s get out of here, she gives me the creeps,” admitted Dale.

  “I know what you mean, being so close to… that is a bit disconcerting.” Rajan started walking across the bar and Dale followed. They opened the front door and started up the steps into the alleyway.

  “It’s not that, it’s the flirting, it’s a bit full on,” Dale said.

  “That’s what creeps you out? Not the whole, you know, the Devil thing?” Rajan turned around on the stairs to face Dale, shocked at his statement.

  “That doesn’t bother me. Shauna is a ghulah, my mate Gaz is a werewolf. I once played chess with a ghost. Nice fella. It’s the heavy flirting. Feels weird coming from a woman. Does that make me sexist?” Dales eyes looked up as though he was trying to puzzle it out.

  “Probably.” Rajan sighed. “Really, that’s your hang up?”

  “It’s probably unprofessional as well, witness protection and all that.”

  “Yeah, that’s it. That’s the worst thing. The worst thing about going out with Satan.”

  Lucille walked down the stairs a few minutes after the detectives, still clutching her warm mug of tea. She looked out across the bar. When she had agreed to the protection arrangement she had asked specifically for this. She wasn’t allowed to leave, having exchanged one prison for another, but at least this one was alive. People laughing, cheering, enjoying themselves. An eternity of boredom meant Lucille was eager to at least experience a small slice of life. It also amused her no end people’s tendency to ask barkeepers for advice, not realising who they were asking.

  “Hey Luci” said one of her regulars as he walked past beer in hand. She smiled. It was a small cooped up life, but it was a life, and Lucille was eager not to lose it.

  “Abbie!” shouted Lucille as she stepped up to the bar. She pulled up a stool and sat down.

  “Yes boss,” said Abbie, leaning her elbows onto the bars counter.

  “Can you get a hold of one of your contacts from the old crew?” Lucille pointed to a bottle of whisky she kept behind the bar. Abbie understood she wanted a glass of it with the unspoken bond of people forced to live long hours with each other.

  “Not allowed boss, no contact with our old lives remember. My flat around the corner and
here. Only places I can go. Not eager to break our agreement.”

  “Don’t bullshit me, I know you keep in touch with some of the old gang. I know there’s that incubi who sends you new albums.” Lucille stared at Abbie sternly.

  “We do have the best music,” admitted Abbie, handing Lucille a finger of whisky and pouring one for herself.

  “Damn right we do,” said Lucille clinking her glass against Abbie’s. “Look we need to let people know about what those bobbies just showed me. It needs to be dealt with properly.”

  “Got it boss.” Abbie downed her whisky in one and set the glass down. “I’ll see what I can do. You know, it’s a bit mean to tease that one copper like that.”

  “Tease?” protested Lucille. “You’ve got me wrong there, I actually think he is cute as hell.”

  Chapter 10

  Brian sat in the single chair in his living room. A worn creaky leather thing that used to recline but had long ago gotten stuck. He was slouched down, can of cheap lager in one hand, television remote in the other. He was wearing a pair of elasticated lounge pants, his worn white shirt left on from his work day, the top few buttons left open. He had opened a streaming app on his television and was scrolling idly through documentaries on serial killers. Outside it was dark, night haven fallen adding dark to the rainy and drab descriptors normally applied to the town. Brian had just chosen a particularly grim looking documentary about a cannibal who ate only faces when there was a frantic knocking on his door.

  “Uh, hello?” Brian said, holding his front door open. In front of him was a young girl, bedraggled from the rain. She was crying, her makeup running a jagged pattern down the large burn on the side of her face. “Are you ok?” he asked.

  “These guys, these guys…” spluttered the girl.

  “It’s ok, its ok,” said Brian “come in. We’ll call the police I guess?” He stepped aside his arm outstretched, beckoning the girl into the house. Claire cracked a smile and stepped past him leaving a trail of wet on the carpet as her dress dragged across the floor. “Through there, the living room is just on the left. Do you need a towel or something?”

  “No, No, I just…” Claire was stood by the recliner, tears pouring forth. “I was walking him and these men they just came out of nowhere and they- “she stopped as Brian placed his hand on her arm.

  “It’s ok, you’re safe now,” said Brian.

  “You aren’t,” said Claire.

  Claire struck him in the centre of his chest with her palm. Brian toppled backwards from the force spluttering. He stumbled tripping over a small side table landing onto his back. He lay there, stunned from the blow as Claire stood over him.

  “Up you get,” she said grabbing Brian by the arms and pulling him forward. She made the right hand into a fist still gripping Brian with her left and punched him hard in the face. His lip split, and he spat blood.

  “Please don’t,” begged Brian, “stop.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” growled Claire punching him again. “I know what you are.” She struck him a third time.

  “You don’t understand!” cried Brian.

  “Oh, I do.” Claire grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him backwards, his head crashing into the floor. “Show me.” She smashed his head onto the ground again. A bloodstain was forming on the carpet. “Show me!” Claire shouted.

  Brian closed his eyes for a moment, when he opened them again they were bloodshot. His pupils open like black pits. He released an unnatural screech and pushed Claire, sending her flying into the opposite wall. He climbed to his feet and let out a slow rumbling growl that was rhythmic, an almost ticking noise. He seemed to grow by at least a foot, his form growing lithe and thin. Slowly his tongue slithered from his mouth, revealing rows of sharp teeth erupting from his gums. The end of his tongue, now at least three feet long opened into its own sharp mouth, a hideous writhing lamprey.

  “An aswang, lurking here in the arse-crack of the world!” laughed Claire. “Can’t be many of you left.”

  “Fuck you!” hissed Brian, the smaller mouth on his tongue moving in time to his speech. “I told you to stop, now you’ll pay you bitch!”

  “And you were so nice before,” said Claire brushing plaster off her dress. “Sorry but I need to borrow some blood, I’ll just need hmm, maybe four or five litres.” She held out her hands palms up, pale blue flames crackled on her fingers. She brought her fingers together forming two small balls of fire which she rolled through her knuckles like a pair of coins.

  “Don’t say you weren’t warned,” spluttered Brian. He crouched, resting one hand on the carpet.

  “So predictable,” Claire sighed, she rolled the flames back into each palm. Brian leapt into the air, screaming a terrible high-pitched wail as he did. Claire gently blew onto her palms, they blossomed into terrible gouts of raging fire. Brian’s cry of defiance became an agonising cry of pain as he was engulfed in the inferno. Claire stepped to one side as Brian crashed down, losing control as he struggled to put out his burning form. Claire reached down, unhurt by the flames, grabbing Brian on the back of the neck. She struck him with her other hand. “This could- “she hit him again, “of- “she continued to hit him, “been so easy.” Confident she had at least momentarily stunned him, she lifted one leg, slipping off the black pump she had stolen with the rest of her outfit. She brought her heel down hard on Brian’s thick slithering tongue. His body smouldered, the room stank of burning flesh. Claire bent down and gripped the tongue with one hand. Keeping it pinned with her foot she tore it free in a spray of blood. Brian’s still smoking form let out a feeble groan of pain. “Stay here a moment,” said Claire as she strolled off, tongue dangling limply from her hand.

  She returned a few minutes later. Meat cleaver in one hand, mop and bucket in the other. She tossed the mop side and lifted Brian’s charred body, unconscious but still alive. She rested his neck on the lip of the bucket.

  “We could have done this without all this unpleasantness,” said Claire in an oddly upbeat tone. “Oh, who am I kidding? This is the fun part.” With a great arcing swing she brought the cleaver down onto the back of Brian’s neck. Severing a head is a messy slow thing. Each strike cut deeper into the flesh. There was a loud clicking noise as she struck down and it took several fearsome blows to cut through the spine. Eventually, Brian’s head dropped into the bucket, bobbing the in the blood that had nearly filled it to overflowing. Claire reached into her dress pocket, stopping momentarily to inspect a section that had become torn in the scuffle. She produced her phone and opened it to the picture she had taken earlier. She crossed off one of the blood spots using the phones image editing tool. “That’s one down,” she said to no one in particular.

  Jess lay in the bed of her own hotel room. She held her phone above her head. On it her wife’s face smiled gently. On the sofa behind her Lana was asleep, curled up with a large white stuffed bear.

  “Sounds like you have your hands full,” said Hannah, her voice scratchy over the phone’s speaker. A Large crack ran down the glass. Jess was notorious for breaking her phone constantly. “Please promise me you’ll be careful.”

  “I always am!” protested Jess. “We’ll wrap this up and be home before you know it.” Jess had told Hannah about having to deal with two cases at once. She had neglected to mention the bodies piling up. The office worked tirelessly to try and downplay deaths in its cases, the last thing they needed was the press rushing to capitalise on a new serial killer like flocking vultures, but Jess always tried to screen Hannah from the worst of the things she saw. “How’s your work going?”

  “Got an article going up later today, the editor was impressed, says more work might come my way soon.” Hannah’s face beamed with a grin.

  “Wow that’s wonderful love, things are really coming along for you.” Hannah was a freelance journalist. It worked wonders for their home-life, allowing her to look after Lana at the same time, but getting jobs was sporadic and unpredictable. They had talked about J
ess leaving the force if Hannah could find a full-time position at a magazine or paper, but Jess knew that would never likely happen. She had seen too many horrific things, privately Jess had resolved to keep working for as long as she could, to protect as many families like hers as possible. It was moments like this, where all she wanted to do was sit down on the sofa next to the sleeping Lana and wrap her arms around her that truly made the job difficult. “Any idea what they might ask you to do?”

  “Probably something like this one. We guess what cheese you like from your choice of celebrity photos. Hardly making good use of my degree, but it pays our bills. Plus, you never know, might stumble across something worthwhile. Maybe some kind of camembert conspiracy?” Hannah laughed at her own joke, her giggling was infections and before she could stop herself Jess was laughing along with her.

  “Jars, pots anything? Come on man, you have to have something.” Claire was talking to herself as she slammed cupboards and pulled out drawers. She opened a door to a small utility room sending the jacket that had been hooked on its corner tumbling across the floor. An identity card clattered from a pocket. “Brian McKenzie Vale Fertility Centre” it read. Inside the small room was a handful of appliances, an old battered washing machine, a tumble dryer with a wobbly door, and a large fridge. It’s white plastic yellowing with age. Claire pulled the door open and stared at the contents within. Rows upon rows of jars, just what she was after. She picked up one of the jars and stared at it. A thick red mucousy liquid swirled within. Claire could make out a tiny, almost imperceptible hand shape in the cloud within. “Oh, you are a naughty boy then,” Claire said. Slowly she carried each jar to the sink, pouring the foetal slurry into the sink. She hummed to herself as she rinsed each jar in the sink, before dunking them into the bucket, filling them to the brim with Brian’s blood.

  Mark was finally alone. He had gone through a cover story for Aasif over and over until they had all the details straight. He had just upped and vanished with Jess and been present at a major incident. Mark didn’t envy the man. He had just learnt the worst thing imaginable walked among mankind, but now faced something even worse. Police paperwork. Mark had briefly considered simply putting in a call with Weston, get the requisite forms filled to have everything classified and save Aasif a bunch of hassle. He had noticed that Jess had left him out when she had submitted her report though and guessed that she wasn’t keen on dragging someone else into their world. Eventually they would have to mention him, and once that was done Aasif would find himself transferred to London, trained to be a detective and roped into the department. It’s how they were all recruited, and it was inevitable, but Mark had no intention of going behind his partners back. He slipped off his shoes and lay on his bed, still clothed, staring at the runes on his walls. He pulled out his phone and stared at that instead. No calls, no messages. He opened his emails. Nothing there either. He refreshed everything impatiently, waiting for something from the London office and their information gathering visit. Hopefully they had something because Mark was out of ideas.