Devil's Conflict

by Percival Constantine

  Once I was convinced he really didn’t know anything, I vaporized him with hellfire and dropped the nightstick. I turned to Morrison, who braced himself against one of the garage’s support pillars and bent over, vomiting. Guess he wasn’t a fan of my methods.

  “Done for now?” I asked.

  “What…what are you?” he asked.

  “I’m the handsome devil who just saved your ass,” I said. “Now get in the car, you’ve got some storytelling to do.”

  2

  We got back to my place without incident. Not even the traffic was a problem. Someone wanted Charles Morrison and I’d bet my ride it was because they wanted to know where Dakota was. Those demons were sent by someone and they didn’t even know who. Someone was being smart about who they threw to the wolves, only telling them the bare minimum to get the job done.

  When we stepped off the elevator onto my floor, I walked up to the front door to my penthouse. I held my hand over the handle and said, “Aperio.” The locks turned and the door opened.

  “Nice trick,” said Morrison. “What do you do if someone else knows the spell?”

  “I’ve got warding spells on the door, only I can open it,” I said and walked in.

  I took off my jacket and hung it up, then went through the front corridor and into the living and connected dining rooms. I gestured to the couch.

  “Make yourself at home. Do Opus Dei drink or not?”

  “If the mood strikes. And after tonight, I’d say the mood has definitely struck.”

  I walked over to the bar and took two glasses, pouring Laphroaig into both. I carried the glasses to the living room, where Morrison was sitting on the couch and cleaning his glasses. I handed him one of the glasses and then sat in my chair.

  “We’re safe here,” I said. “I’ve got warding magic over every single wall of this condo. No one’s listening in, no one can walk through the door, no one can even track us. Mystically speaking, this is probably the safest place on Earth.”

  Morrison scoffed. “Maybe not against the one we’re facing.”

  I lit a cigarette. “You got a story to tell, and I suggest you get on with the telling.”

  Morrison nodded and took a big sip of his scotch. He cringed after tasting it. Laphroaig was definitely something that took a bit of getting used to.

  “I’ve been in the Opus Dei since I was in graduate school. You said you had an encounter with us before.”

  “Not a pleasant one,” I said.

  “There are some of our number who can be a bit…overzealous. Rest assured, Mr. Cross, I’m not one of them. I’m a professor of religious studies and for the Opus Dei, I provide counsel and research. Or at least I used to. Several months ago, I was contacted by an angel.”

  “Which angel?” I asked.

  “He said his name was Raziel. At first, he asked me to research the history of the nephilim and I did. But then, he said he had need of me. A very special assignment for which I had to leave my teaching position and the Opus Dei for an indefinite period of time.”

  “What assignment?” I asked.

  “He brought me to a small island in the Philippines. And that’s where I met Dakota,” said Morrison. “Since then, I’ve been living with her and a few devoted servants of the church, all personally selected by Raziel. Like your condo, our home was warded against discovery. Raziel said he had some things to take care of and asked for us to watch over Dakota and tend to her needs, while also continuing my research.”

  “Why did you say Dakota sent you to find me?”

  “Because she did.” Morrison sighed. “Two months ago, Dakota gave birth.”

  The glass almost slipped out of my fingers, but I caught it before it did. So the nephilim was born, first one in centuries. I hadn’t even realized how much time had passed since I first met Dakota. Felt like yesterday but at the same time also felt like something in the distant past. I’d put it out of my mind, not allowing myself a chance to think about it.

  “She had the baby…” I said, repeating it as if that would help me believe it. “Is it…?”

  Morrison smiled warmly and sipped his drink. “It’s a boy, Mr. Cross. A beautiful baby boy. Both he and Dakota are in good health. He’s got a very curious nature about him and he hardly ever cries.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know what you meant,” said Morrison. “At the moment, the boy shows no signs of his…unique conception. He just seems like a regular child.”

  “We both know he’s not,” I said.

  Morrison nodded. “Yes, that’s true. But right now, he’s simply an innocent child.”

  “That’s why those demons were after you. Whoever sent them knew Raziel had chosen you to watch after Dakota. And as soon as you popped up on their radar, they came after you. They wanted to use you to get to her and her baby.”

  “I suspected as much myself, and now you see why we need your help.”

  I took a drag on the cigarette and stamped it out in the ashtray, then rose to my feet. “You stupid sonnuva bitch.”

  “I beg your pardon?” asked Morrison, his brow scrunching.

  “You were protected. By coming here, you’ve exposed yourself, exposed Dakota. Why the hell would you do something so monumentally idiotic?”

  “You think I wanted to leave?” asked Morrison. “I had no choice, Mr. Cross.”

  “Bullshit.” I could feel the heat starting to increase.

  “Mr. Cross, Raziel is gone.”

  I blinked and it was like a bucket of cold water had been dumped on me. The burning anger had been extinguished even faster than it rose. “What do you mean ‘gone’?”

  “Just that, gone.” Morrison sighed. “Raziel promised to check in on us. He said if we needed anything, we should summon him and him alone. At first, he lived up to that promise. Whenever we needed something, we summoned and he came.

  “But one day, he stopped coming. I thought he must just be busy and assumed he would come when he could. And I told the others that when the baby came, he was certain to return. Then the day came, and we summoned…”

  “And he didn’t show,” I said.

  Morrison nodded. “We spent the past two months trying to summon him, tried using locator spells, even tried praying. Nothing worked. And that was when Dakota told me that if there was one person who could help us, it was Luther Cross. She said I had to come to Chicago to find you, to tell you what the situation is. She said if anyone could find Raziel, it was you. Said you were the one he trusted with protecting her in the first place.”

  I sat back down in my chair. “When was the last time you saw Raz?”

  “I’m not sure…had to have been September.”

  That was the last time I saw him, too. After I’d gotten back from Purgatory. And two months ago…that was when another angel named Gabriel appeared to me to tell me that Raz had gone missing. I’d just assumed he was protecting Dakota. Seemed I was wrong.

  “What makes you think I can help you?” I asked.

  “Because Dakota believes in you,” said Morrison. “She said you protected her when she was at her most vulnerable, that you could be trusted more than anyone else—more than even Raziel.”

  I stood and walked over to the bar to replenish my drink. After refilling the glass, I went to the balcony window and stared out at the Chicago skyline. I remembered visions I’d had in the past of the sky on fire, then tried to put the memory out of my head.

  “Dakota’s wrong,” I said. “The man she knew isn’t the man I am. Not anymore.”

  “I don’t understand…”

  “You saw what I did to that demon,” I said, turning to face him. “Made you sick to your stomach, didn’t it?”

  Morrison nodded. “It…was difficult to watch.”

  “And you heard what I told them, didn’t you? I’m not just some paranormal investigator anymore. See, I spent my Christmas vacation becoming a Lord of Hell.”

  “What?” asked Morrison, rising to his
feet. “How is that possible? You work with the forces of evil?”

  “Heaven and Hell aren’t as simple as good and evil, Chuck,” I said. “It’s actually a lot more complicated than you might imagine.”

  “Who sent those demons?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “Damned if I know. Could be one of the other Hell Lords, could be someone else entirely. Could even be the angel who started all this by impregnating Dakota. But what I’m telling you is it doesn’t matter who’s behind this. What you gotta do is go back to where you came from, keep Dakota and that kid hidden.”

  “And then what?” asked Morrison. “How are we supposed to protect the child?”

  “You can’t trust anyone,” I said. “That includes me—especially me.”

  “I’m beginning to see that.” Morrison set his glass down on the coffee table and sighed. He walked towards me, disappointment practically tattooed on his face. “Dakota put her faith in you. And now I’ll have to tell her it was misplaced.”

  “Damn straight you will,” I said. “You’ll tell her to forget I ever existed.”

  Morrison nodded. “Agreed. That would be best for everyone. Thank you for what you did for me tonight, Mr. Cross. I apologize for inconveniencing you.”

  He started to walk to the hallway, but he stopped. “Oh, would you like to know what she named the baby?”

  “Please don’t tell me she called him Adam or Christian or Jesus or anything like that,” I said.

  “No,” said Morrison. “His name’s Malcolm. Malcolm Luther Reed, to be exact.”

  “She should’ve found a better middle name.”

  “After meeting the man that name came from, I’m inclined to agree,” he said.

  I waited for Morrison to leave. Once he was gone, I lit a fresh cigarette and stepped out onto the balcony. I leaned against the railing, watching the city lights.

  Why would I give a damn about Dakota Reed anymore? Or her bastard angel child? That was all in the past. I was trying to stay off Heaven’s radar. Getting mixed up in all this would be working against my interests.

  There was more than that, too. Asmodeus was working with Raziel on this, and he was trapped in Purgatory. If the Infernal Court knew what I knew, they’d want the kid for themselves. Might even go to war over the damn thing because it meant the forces of Heaven violated the armistice.

  That would bring about armageddon. And my head would no doubt be on the chopping block. Lucifer might even offer up my head on a platter to Heaven, much like they did with Lilith after she began corrupting humanity.

  I wasn’t about to spend the next several millennia as a prisoner of Hell or Heaven. And even with the Abraxas Stone, I wouldn’t be able to stand against the power of both.

  Dakota’s face kept flashing in my mind. In the short time we’d known each other, she became the little sister I never had. There was a part of me that wanted to protect her, do whatever possible to make sure her and her baby were safe.

  That was the old me. I’d killed that side of myself. Turned against everyone I’d ever cared about. Alistair, Celeste, Tessa, Wayne—I’d made it more than clear I never wanted anything to do with them again. I threw my lot in with Lilith and there was no turning back now.

  The days of Luther Cross helping the little guy and sticking his neck out on behalf of assholes like Raziel were over. Now, I was only looking out for my own interests. Charles Morrison, Dakota Reed, and baby Malcolm—they’d all have to take care of themselves.

  I was Luther Cross, Lord of Hell. My only interest was taking care of my own business. If anyone had a problem with that, they could kiss my ass.

  3

  At the stroke of three in the morning, a heavy fog rolled across Lake Michigan. After it settled, a single, solitary boat moved through the mist. It was narrow and long, the hull apparently crafted from human bones and skulls. At the fore stood the helmsman, who wore a heavy cloak with a hood pulled forward enough that it cast a heavy shadow over his face. Straggly gray hair emerged from the sides of the hood and his eyes had an ethereal, white glow to them.

  The boat rolled to the shore and the helmsman turned to his sole passenger. He was a man with long, silver hair and dressed in a dirty, button-down shirt and crimson slacks covered in filth and torn in places. His face was lined with a silver beard and his yellow eyes burned with a desire for vengeance.

  “We’ve arrived,” said the helmsman. “Welcome back to Earth, Asmodeus.”

  Asmodeus rose from the bench he sat on and approached the edge of the boat. He turned and cast a glare at the helmsman. “And what of you, Charon? Thanatos won’t be pleased that you helped us into Purgatory.”

  “I’m the ferryman for all realms, Thanatos knows he cannot harm me,” said Charon. “Be more concerned with the circumstances behind your own release, fallen one.”

  Charon raised his oar from the water. As he lifted it, a sand dune broke through the surface of the water, creating a land bridge for Asmodeus.

  “Now go,” said the helmsman. “For your sake, I pray we do not have to meet again.”

  Asmodeus nodded and hopped over the edge of the boat. He landed on the dune with bare feet and started walking. He didn’t stop until he reached the street. Under normal circumstances, Asmodeus would use his powers to modulate his form to his preferred appearance and use his demonic wings to carry him back to his home.

  Unfortunately, such a thing wasn’t possible at the moment. He was still weak from his ordeal in Purgatory at the hands of Thanatos’ agents. He needed time to recharge his abilities. But before that, he needed to make himself presentable. Asmodeus has a reputation to maintain and it wouldn’t do for him to be seen in such a state.

  Asmodeus raised his arm when he saw a taxi on the street. It pulled to a stop before him and he climbed into the back seat.

  “Drake Hotel.”

  “You okay, pal?” asked the driver. “Look like you’ve been through Hell.”

  “If only,” said Asmodeus. “Drive.”

  The driver nodded and pulled away from the curb, merging back into traffic and heading towards Lake Shore Drive. He made a few attempts at small talk, but Asmodeus ignored them and stared out the window, watching as the buildings passed them by.

  Time moved differently in Purgatory. Asmodeus had no idea how long it had actually been since he was last on Earth or how much his world had changed in that time. It could have been days, could have been years.

  Asmodeus saw they were drawing close to the hotel. “Stop here,” he said.

  The driver came to a stop. He hit a button on the meter and looked over his shoulder. “Okay, that’ll be—”

  Asmodeus punched through the plastic screen meant to protect the driver and grabbed his head. The driver screamed as Asmodeus pulled him partly through the broken screen. Asmodeus gripped the driver’s head in both hands and stared into him with burning, yellow eyes.

  “I think not,” he said and his eyes glowed brighter as he started to dig his fingers into the driver’s head.

  The cabbie screamed, his body glowing white. That light seemed to flow from the driver and into Asmodeus’ mouth. As the light faded from the driver, the glow of Asmodeus’ eyes became stronger.

  Once the light subsided, Asmodeus released the driver. His body was now little more than a withered husk. Asmodeus opened the door and stepped out of the cab. He walked the rest of the way to the front entrance of the Drake.

  The doorman didn’t take his eyes off Asmodeus as he did his duty. Asmodeus ignored the stares of the staff and guests who couldn’t stop looking at them and walked right to the front desk. He cut through the line, pushing people aside. Many protested, but the appearance of this disheveled and dangerous-looking man ensured that none took it beyond that.

  “C-can I help you, sir?” asked the young man behind the desk.

  “Is Jacob Pearson still the manager?”

  The man nodded.

  “Is he here?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “
Tell him Asmodeus would like a word.”

  “Of course, sir. J-just a minute.” The man picked up the phone and quickly dialed the appropriate extension. “Sir, this is the front desk. There’s a Mr….umm…Asmodeus who would like to speak with you. … Yes sir, I understand. Thank you, sir.”

  He hung up the phone and looked up at Asmodeus, then quickly averted his eyes. The gesture made the demon smile.

  “He’ll be right with you, sir. If you could just wait right over there.”

  “Thank you,” said Asmodeus and turned away. He picked up a copy of the Chicago Tribune from one of the tables and took a seat on an empty couch in the lobby. The first thing Asmodeus did was check the date on the front page and that was when he learned that five months had passed in the real world while he was trapped in Purgatory.

  “Mr. Asmodeus, it’s a pleasure to see you again, sir.”

  Asmodeus lowered the paper and stood to see the man standing before him. Jacob Pearson was in his forties, his blond hair perfectly combed and set and his Drake uniform completely spotless and wrinkle-free.

  “Thank you, Jacob. I’d like my usual room, please. And if possible, I’d like you to send up a tailor, barber, and masseuse. In that order. Also send up a box of cigars and a bottle of your finest brandy.”

  “Yes, of course. Right away, sir.”

  Asmodeus stood in front of the mirror in his suite’s large bathroom. The barber had given him a clean shave and cut his hair back down to shoulder-length, which was much more preferable. The tailor had taken his measurements and would have a suit ready for him within another day or two.

  While he waited, he had other things to concern himself with. He pulled a hotel robe over his body and left the bathroom just as he heard a knock at the door. Asmodeus opened the door and saw a young woman dressed in a white uniform, holding a folding massage table under one arm and a bag hanging from her other shoulder.