Devil's Conflict

by Percival Constantine

  A coffin.

  “Nice trick, Asmodeus,” I said. “But it’s gonna take more than being buried alive to scare me. Plus, I saw Kill Bill.”

  I started punching the coffin lid. The wood was stubborn and refused to crack. I wouldn’t be deterred, though. I kept punching it, ignoring the pain. The once-pristine white lining on the lid now showed bloodstains from my knuckles.

  And then a crack. I smiled and kept going. The skin on my knuckles was tearing off, but I didn’t care. Scrape them down to the bone, I’d still keep going. I wasn’t about to let a demon get the better of me.

  The lid gave way and my fist went right through it. Dirt poured into the coffin. I started to dig through it, pushing it aside as I climbed to the surface.

  I reached until my hand couldn’t feel the soil anymore. Now it felt a cool breeze and wet drops. I pushed my other arm up and braced both hands on the ground. My head came through next and I drew in a deep breath.

  I pulled myself out of the grave and laughed as I laid on the wet grass. Thunder clapped in the distance and lightning brightened up the darkened sky. Rain fell down in torrents, but I didn’t mind getting soaked to the bone.

  I sat up and kept laughing as I looked at the headstone. It was in the shape of a giant cross and my name, birth date, and supposed date of death were carved in it. I noticed something interesting. The date the headstone said I died, it wasn’t that same day. Nor was it a day of any other significance. Not when I went to Purgatory, not when I became a Hell Lord, nothing.

  In fact, it was a day that hadn’t come yet. This same month. But when I tried to read the day, it was scuffed. Illegible. I rubbed my thumb on it to no avail.

  “Another trick,” I said.

  And then I read the inscription at the bottom of the headstone. ‘Betrayer of Friends and Loved Ones.’

  “Oh, real cute touch,” I shouted up to the sky. “Still think you can guilt me into doing what you want?”

  The thunder drew my attention back to the headstone. A flash of lightning revealed other headstones all around. Ones I hadn’t seen before. I stood, looking at each of the names.

  Dakota Reed. Tessa Kang. Celeste King. Alistair Carraway. Wayne Cooper. Charles Morrison. Cassandra—

  Wait.

  I stopped and took a few steps back. I knelt down in front of one of the stones I’d already passed. I studied the name, reading it over and over again.

  Charles Morrison.

  Asmodeus wouldn’t have known his name. But he gave me just enough material to work with, and then my subconscious filled in the gaps. Provided the one missing piece Asmodeus needed to complete his puzzle.

  The rain stopped and the air suddenly reeked of brimstone. All was silent until I heard the sound of one man clapping. I slowly turned and saw Asmodeus perched on a headstone as if he were weightless, with bat-like wings wrapped around his body, the glow from his eyes illuminating the smile on his face.

  “There, Luther. Now was that so difficult? All I need now is to find out where exactly Mr. Morrison is located.”

  “Think it’s that easy, huh?” I asked. “You may have his name, but finding him’s not gonna be so easy. You really believe I’d send him to a safehouse that wasn’t warded against detection?”

  “Oh no, I’m sure you did,” said Asmodeus. “And while my usual methods won’t be of much use in the search, I’m not the kind of demon who’s failed to adjust to modern times.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  “Quite simple, really,” he said. “Cain told me of another man present when he attacked you at the airport. Iblis has lots of contacts in the police force. Put in a call to someone on his payroll at the O’Hare precinct. They didn’t have an ID on your companion, but they did know that a Detective Wayne Cooper was responsible for securing your release. And you know the nice thing about police vehicles, right?”

  GPS tracker. Iblis’ mole would be able to tell him exactly where Wayne parked his car. Once they knew that, they could find the safehouse. Goddammit, Luther. You’ve been played.

  “You go near Dakota, and I’ll end you,” I said. “You hear me? And there won’t be any deals with Purgatory to bring you back this time.”

  “You’re still under the mistaken belief that you can stop me,” said Asmodeus. “You should realize that this is for the greater good, Luther. Dakota won’t be harmed, you have my word on that. Thanatos will keep the child from being used by Heaven. The balance will remain. Thanatos simply needs an edge in his dealings with them.”

  “I’ve got no reason to trust Thanatos with the spiritual equivalent of a nuclear weapon,” I said. “You should know better, too.”

  “I do, but unfortunately, desperate times. Perhaps I’ll see you again sometime.”

  Asmodeus snapped his fingers and he vanished. I thought that would be the end of it, but then the dream ended for me, too. I was back in the real world, still chained to the ladder in the pool. And greeted by the feel of cold iron against my forehead.

  Cain’s gun pressed right up against me. He had no smile on his face. Asmodeus and Iblis had gone. We were the only ones left. And now that Asmodeus got what he wanted, it was time for Cain to claim his payment.

  “Any last words, Cross?”

  28

  The markings on Cain’s barrel lit up like hot coals. He had a dispassionate look on his face, his eyes glowing green as if they were radioactive. And the iron chains kept me from doing a damn thing about it. After everything I’d been through, to have it end all like this…

  The shot was fired. But not from Cain’s gun. This was a much louder blast and it came from somewhere else. Strong enough to knock even Cain off his feet. I turned my head towards the source and saw him walking in, his shirt a mess, his tie loose around his neck, and his trench coat in dire need of a dry-clean. His lightened blond hair looked like it hadn’t seen a comb in days and his stubble had the consistency of steel wool. And in his hands he held a double-barreled shotgun with glowing markings along its iron shaft.

  Alistair Carraway. Somehow, he was here. I’d assumed after our last encounter, when I nearly killed him, would’ve been enough to send him packing. But here he was just when I needed him the most. Same as the day I was born.

  He hopped into the pool and walked over to me, checking the lock on the chains. Setting the shotgun just beside the ladder outside the pool, he produced a paperclip from his jacket, straightened it, and started working it inside the padlock.

  “Why aren’t you using magic?” I asked.

  “Lock’s warded, gotta go old school,” he said.

  “Figured you left town.”

  “You figured wrong, lad.” He divided his attention between picking the lock and making sure Cain wasn’t about to get up. “Bugger, hold on.”

  Alistair took his hands off the lock and picked up the shotgun once again. Cain had started to get back to his feet, and Alistair shot him once more, knocking him down again. Alistair held up his hand and whispered, “Sepio.”

  A brief flicker of light appeared as a wall between us and Cain. When the murderer stood again, he fired his revolver, but the bullet flattened against the magic barrier. Alistair smiled and returned his attention to the lock. Me, I watched Cain pound his fists against the barrier.

  “That won’t hold him for long,” I said. “You do know who that is, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do, what do you take me for?” he asked.

  “How’d you even know where to find me?”

  “Your friend, Cassandra. Gave me a ring after Cain ambushed you. Took some time, but I was finally able to locate you.”

  “Seems to me you got here pretty quickly. It’s only been what, a few hours?”

  The sound of the rattling chain and the paperclip scraping inside the lock stopped. I looked at Alistair, who was staring at my face. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s been more than a few hours, lad,” he said. “It’s been a few days.”

  “What?
”

  I was terrified. If it had been a few days since Cain took me prisoner, then how long ago did Asmodeus perform his dreamwalk? He would’ve been able to find Wayne and Morrison in no time at all. Which meant I might have already been too late.

  “Hurry up, we don’t have a whole lot of time,” I said.

  “Maybe if you’d belt up for five minutes…”

  I sighed. “Just hurry.” I focused on Cain, watching him pound on the barrier. Each blow caused it to flicker and I knew it would only be a matter of time before he overpowered it. Now I had to not only take out Cain, but then find out just how much damage Asmodeus had done.

  “Got it!”

  The lock popped open and the chains slackened. Alistair helped me pull them off, completely freeing me of any limitations. But there was still the problem of this being an unkillable, unstoppable bastard who lived for murder.

  “So, what do we do now?” asked Alistair.

  I did a double-take, looking between him and Cain. “You’re asking me? Didn’t you come here with a plan?”

  “Yeah, rescue you and then you’d handle it from there. I should be sitting on a beach somewhere sipping fruity umbrella drinks and enjoying my retirement…” muttered Alistair. “Not standing in an abandoned hospital of bloody horrors, about to be maimed by the patron saint of killers…”

  Alistair’s whining triggered an idea. “Holy shit, that’s it…”

  “What’s it?”

  “Hospital of horrors, lots of people died here.”

  “Yeah, and…?”

  “Abandoned building, ugly history, usually means a lot of vengeful spirits.”

  “That barrier will give before we have time to finish any sort of ritual.”

  “I know.” I took the shotgun from him and he looked at me with confusion. “Go find a safe spot to perform the ritual. I’ll hold off Cain.”

  “You sure you’re up to this?” he asked.

  “Not really, but I know you’re definitely not,” I said.

  Alistair scoffed. “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “You really wanna argue about this now, old man?”

  A sound like the shattering of glass echoed. We both looked and saw Cain had destroyed the barrier. He now raised his gun to fire on us. I turned to Alistair. “You wanna stay and argue the point, or you wanna get going?”

  Alistair sighed and reached into his pocket, pulling out a fresh magazine for the shotgun. He handed it to me and said, “Right, I’m off, then.”

  I held the shotgun in both hands, aimed, and fired. The shot blew Cain back, knocking the revolver from his hand. I pumped the forend to load a fresh round.

  “Listen to me, Cain, because I don’t want to have to hurt you.”

  Cain chuckled. “You hurt me? Don’t make me laugh, Cross.”

  I fired again to keep him down. He growled and looked up at me.

  “Your ammo’s finite. Once you run out of shells, I’ll still be here. And I’ll be pissed.”

  “Maybe in the meantime, I can talk some sense into you,” I said. “Listen to me. I fucked you, I know that. But I had no choice. I needed your help getting through Purgatory. It was the only way that Raziel could find the information he was looking for.”

  “Right, this angel who’s gonna tear everything down,” said Cain. “And how’d that work out for you? Find out what you needed to know?”

  I drew in a sharp breath. “No. Instead, everything just went insane. I’m trying to pull myself out of the hole I’ve dug for myself. But if Asmodeus gets his hands on that child, there’s no telling what will happen. Now I know I messed up, but I’m willing to make amends. And I swear on my mother’s grave, I’ll do whatever it takes to make good on my promise. So what do you say? Can we cut the shit and talk?”

  Cain sighed and looked down at the ground, shaking his head. I’d seen that look on him before, the other night in the alley. Back then, it seemed he was about to flip. Turned out I was wrong. Wouldn’t let myself get too overconfident again.

  He slowly rose to his feet and stared at me. His movements were so subtle and quick, I didn’t even see his hand move behind his jacket. I was too late to notice any of it before he threw the knife and it struck me in my shoulder.

  “Think I’ll pass,” he said.

  Alistair had found a patient room where he could work. He pushed aside the gurney to make space on the floor. There wasn’t enough time to prepare things properly, so he was going to have to go quick and dirty with this spell. The issue came in skipping the protection ritual. By prioritizing speed over safety, Alistair was running the risk of the spirits turning on him instead of his intended target.

  He took the knife from the sheath on his belt and sliced into his hand. His teeth gritted together as the blade cut into his skin. Alistair sheathed the knife and dipped the fingers of his opposite hand into the pooling blood. Quickly, he smeared the blood on the floor, drawing a sigil in order to communicate his intention. It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do in this case.

  There was a roll of gauze lying on the ground. Probably far from sanitary, but there were more important things to worry about. Alistair wrapped his cut hand and once he finished, he stepped into the circle. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, slowly releasing it. Alistair performed the action several more times, controlling his breathing, feeling every inch of his body.

  While he breathed, he visualized the magical energy in his body gathering together from his soul, pooling in the center of his chest. He pictured it splitting into two paths, moving down his arms and into the palms of his hands. When he opened his eyes, they had a soft glow.

  “I call now to the lost,” he began. “I call to those trapped between the worlds of life and death. To those who have been forgotten, who have been abandoned. I summon you now. I call on you to work my will. I call on you to be forgotten no more. Should you entrust your spirits to my command, I shall be grateful and I vow to finally grant you the peace that has long eluded you. How do you respond?”

  At first, there was silence. But then, the temperature in the room dropped. A howl was heard in the distance. Wind started flowing through the room, circling around Alistair. At first it was slow, but then it picked up speed. Debris and scattered, light items were raised from the ground, spinning around him in the quickly-forming vortex.

  Alistair could sense their despair. Their fear. It was all so overwhelming, almost to the point that he was afraid this was going to backfire. Without any sort of protection, he could only hope that the spirits would trust him and do as he asked. But if they didn’t, they might take him with them back to the veil.

  Cain crossed the distance between us and wrested the shotgun out of my hand. He slammed the butt against my head and the force of the blow knocked me down. Cain raised the gun and pointed the barrel at me.

  “You really think I’m stupid enough to ever trust you once more, Cross?” he asked. “I’m never walking down that road again. But you were right about one thing—you did fuck up. Now it’s time to pay your…debt…”

  Cain’s voice trailed off at the end and he started to look around with an uncertain look on his face. I could feel it, too. The room had gotten colder. The spirits were restless. And they were coming here.

  Agonized groans echoed around us. The sounds of the damned, crying out for vengeance for all the horrors inflicted on them in life. Winds blew around us and it was now so cold that I could see my breath.

  Flickers of light appeared between Cain and myself. They quickly took shape and I saw the ghosts of the patients who’d died in this place. Some of the ghosts had open chest cavities. Others had needles sticking out of their arms. Some seemed to have suffered from malnutrition, looking like living corpses.

  “What is this?” asked Cain, firing the shotgun at the ghosts. But there weren’t enough shells for the amount of spirits in this place.

  “What’s it look like?” I asked. “Asmodeus really should’ve picked a place
that didn’t have such a twisted history. Might’ve ended better for you.”

  The spirits came from everywhere at once, swarming him. Cain tried to fight back, firing blindly into them, but they kept on coming. I wasn’t going to stay and watch, I had more important things to take care of. I climbed the ladder and ran from the pool area. I ran through the halls, calling Alistair’s name.

  Finally, I heard a reply. Alistair emerged from one of the patient rooms, his hand crudely bandaged and looking like he could use a stiff drink and a long nap.

  “You good?” I asked.

  He nodded between short breaths. “I’ll live. But only if we get out of here now.”

  “No arguments from me, old man.”

  29

  We both got into Alistair’s rental car parked outside the medical center and he wasted no time in driving away from the place. From the passenger seat, I looked out the window, staring back at the building.

  “You know that won’t stop him,” said Alistair. “Spell will wear off eventually and the spirits will return to the veil. Cain will still be standing.”

  “And he’ll be extremely pissed,” I said. “Doesn’t matter, don’t have much of a choice right now. Besides, if I can’t stop Asmodeus, Cain’s the least of my worries.”

  “How’s your shoulder?”

  I looked down at where Cain’s knife was still lodged. “Dull throb. At least they fixed up my leg after Cain kicked my ass at Cassie’s.”

  “There’s a first aid kit in the glove box.”

  I opened it and took out the kit. I rummaged around and found some gauze and rubbing alcohol. I reached for the knife and gripped it by the hilt.

  “Sure you don’t want me to stop?” asked Alistair.

  I shook my head. “Keep driving south. Got to get to that safehouse, see if anyone’s still alive.”

  I grit my teeth and pulled the knife out. It was painful but also a relief at the same time. I could feel blood seeping out of the wound and I pushed down on it with the gauze. I started whispering in Latin, picturing the blood flowing back into the wound and the skin closing up. Wouldn’t work that fast, but the healing magic would start to take effect.