Blood Lite II: Overbite

by Kevin J. Anderson

  I stepped through the doors to find myself face-to-face with . . . myself. A giant banner hung from floor to ceiling, just in case anyone had missed the one outside.

  “Oh, God,” I said. “I don’t think I can do this.”

  “I don’t blame you.” Karl pointed to a service door. “I do believe that will take us into the rear of the museum, near the display for the amulet. And with those banners all over the building, no one will wonder why you’re wandering about.”

  “Nice try. If—”

  The hall went dark. Voices rose in a chant. I heard a scream. Felt a splatter of warm liquid. Licked my lips and tasted blood.

  The chanting grew louder, but the screams drowned them out. I strained to see deeper into the vision, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever was responsible for the delicious chaos washing over me.

  The screams faded and I felt Karl’s hands rubbing my arms. I blinked and looked around. He’d tugged me into a corner.

  “Trouble?” he said.

  I shook my head. “Just a vision of past ritual torture or human sacrifice. You know museums. Full of dull, dry hist—”

  The hair on my neck rose as a voiceless whisper called to me, promising more sweet chaos . . .

  “Hope?”

  “Museums,” I said, shaking my head, and motioned him into the foyer.

  “Ironically appropriate, don’t you think?” Karl whispered.

  We stood before a display dedicated to human-demon hybrids in myth and popular culture, including Hell Spawn—True News’s answer to Weekly World News’s Bat Boy.

  The whole exhibit was like that—linking my articles to supernatural legends. Fascinating, actually. And, yes, flattering, once I got past the cringe factor.

  Tour guides led partygoers through the displays. We were in the first group, with my mother, the congressman, and Gran.

  “I wish your father could have been here,” Gran said. “He’s so proud of you, dear.”

  “I’m sure he is,” Karl murmured. “But it’s a long way to travel.”

  I glowered at him. My father might be Lucifer, but my dad was still Will Adams. He was on business in Indonesia and had sent a gift with Gran—a silver armband engraved with mystical symbols. Ugly as hell, but it was his way of showing his support, and a lot more welcome than sponsoring a museum exhibit in my name.

  We were discussing the museum renovations when Karl decided it was time to use the restroom. I’d say he felt guilty about those repairs, but Karl never feels guilty. The renovations were his fault. We’d first met here four years ago when I’d tried to stop him from stealing something—surprise, surprise—and nearly got the place burned down running from someone else on his tail. Thousand-year-old papyrus scrolls and fire half-demons really don’t mix.

  Karl hadn’t commented on the renovations. Nor had he commented on our return to the scene of our first meeting. I’m sure he remembered—kind of hard to forget—but Karl wasn’t the sentimental type. Also, he hadn’t made the best first impression. It’d been two years before I’d go out with him, which I’m sure he considers a failure best forgotten, for the sake of his ego.

  Gran was pointing out the new plasterwork when the director arrived. “The guest of honor,” he said, pumping my hand. “Isn’t your exhibit marvelous?”

  “It is.”

  He lowered his voice. “Some board members were opposed to the exhibit, saying it would be pandering to the basest segment of society.”

  “Understandable. It’s—”

  “And I said, that’s the point. Entice them in with the lurid and the ludicrous and maybe they’ll get lost on the way to the restrooms and actually see something edifying. In tough times, we all need to do what we can. However distasteful.” He nudged me. “You know all about that.”

  Gran pushed between us. “Actually, my granddaughter likes her work. And I like it, too. Folklore is an important part of any culture and—”

  —a lesson you won’t soon forget, a voice boomed.

  I jumped. Mom put a hand against my back. The lights flickered, but no one else seemed to notice. As Gran continued lecturing the director, a tendril of chaos wrapped around me, tugging me deeper into the museum.

  Oh, hell, where was Karl? And what was he getting into?

  When I said I had to go, Mom tried to stop me, thinking I was upset by the director’s comments, but I brushed her off and hurried into the back hall.

  No sign of Karl. I closed my eyes and concentrated. I could pick up blips of chaos from the party. Anger. Jealousy. Envy. When I tuned that out, I got a jolt of the real stuff, coming from the jewelry exhibit.

  Oh, hell.

  I jogged along the dark corridor.

  Thrall of Lucifer, heed my words!

  I spun, nearly tripping. The hall was empty.

  You have rained down chaos and destruction for long enough. May you spend eternity suffering the torment you have visited on so many.

  Something wrapped around me, tight as a mummy’s bindings. I struggled to get free, shrieked and shouted curses in languages I didn’t recognize—

  “Hope!”

  I snapped out of the vision to find myself on the floor, lying across Karl’s lap.

  I scrambled to my feet. “You took it, didn’t you?”

  “What?”

  “The Amulet of Marduk. Damn you, Karl, I asked—”

  “I didn’t take anything.”

  I grabbed his tuxedo lapel and reached inside the jacket for the hidden pocket.

  He caught my hands. “If you want to undress me, there are better places to do it. In fact, I saw a suitably dark—”

  “What did you steal?” I asked.

  “Nothing. Yes, I was in the room with the amulet. Yes, I have every intention of taking it. But not tonight. I wouldn’t do that when—”

  Something small and furry scampered past a doorway.

  “Rat?” I said.

  “No, it smells like—”

  Chattering erupted. Then the sound of tiny nails skittering across the floor. The creature darted out of a dark adjoining room and launched itself at me. The smell of the thing hit me—an awful stink of formaldehyde and badly stored fur. It thumped onto me, claws clutching the front of my dress. A tiny spider monkey face turned up to mine.

  A tiny dead spider monkey.

  Its eyes were beads and half its teeth were missing. At every joint, the fur and skin had ripped open. Sawdust spilled out. Through the openings, I could see bone and the wire that had held the monkey in a pose—until it’d been reanimated and no longer cared to be in that pose.

  Karl grabbed the monkey by the scruff of the neck and whipped it away from me. It hit the wall and exploded. Sawdust and fur flew everywhere, including in my mouth. I spat and clawed it out, gagging.

  Again, the sounds of tiny, scrabbling nails filled the hallway. I looked up. One arm and one leg were still attached to the monkey’s torso as it pulled itself toward me.

  Karl strode forward.

  “You can’t kill a reanimated corpse,” I said.

  “I can try.”

  He stomped on it. The arm and leg launched from the torso like rockets.

  I winced. “Better hope the SPCA doesn’t catch you doing that.”

  He snorted and kicked the bits into a storage room.

  I stared at the tufts of fur and curls of sawdust left behind on the polished floor. A top-notch necromancer can reanimate long-dead corpses, but what was the chance that one was practicing his craft during a museum charity event? At the same time that Karl was poking around ancient artifacts?

  “Show me where you were,” I said. “And what you did.”

  • • •

  He’d been in the traveling jewelry exhibit, checking out security so he could return another day and steal the amulet. It was still there, though, and he swore he hadn’t even touched its glass box. What he had handled was a display in an identical case. As a test run, he’d opened it and closed it up again.

  “And
that’s it?” I said.

  “I picked up that,” he said, pointing to a small, jewel-covered box inside. “The sign says it’s bronze with semiprecious stones. It’s wrong. The stones aren’t valuable, but the box itself is gold. I considered pocketing it but—” He shrugged. “Not while we’re invited guests.”

  “And not when it’s an object of historical significance.”

  He said, “Hmm,” which meant that was open to interpretation and he’d interpret it for himself when he came back for the amulet.

  I bent to read the plaque. As I did, I saw the pattern on the box he’d picked up—symbols that told me this was not, as the museum claimed, a fifteenth-century noblewoman’s keepsake box. It was meant for keeping something, though.

  “You opened it?” I said.

  “Not intentionally. It seemed sealed, but when I was examining the jewels, the lid popped open. I closed it.”

  “Not fast enough.” I straightened. “It’s a soul box for demons. Used by witches and sorcerers powerful enough to bind a—”

  Shoes squeaked outside the door.

  “I’ve found you,” a breathless voice said.

  Nelson strode across the room, gaze fixed on me as if he didn’t even see Karl.

  “Uh, sorry, we were just looking for the ladies’ room. I need to, uh, freshen up.” I flashed a smile. “Get looking beautiful.”

  “Why?” Nelson stopped in front of me. “You are already the most beautiful thing I have ever laid eyes on.”

  “Umm, thanks . . .”

  Behind me, Karl growled.

  Nelson dropped to one knee. “I am yours, mistress. I live to serve you. To worship you.”

  “Guess that demon soul isn’t in the monkey anymore,” Karl murmured.

  “You don’t think I’m worthy of worship?” I said. “Maybe—”

  Nelson started licking my shins.

  Karl turned to me. “You were saying?”

  “Never mind. You’re going to need to disable him. Just don’t—”

  Karl grabbed Demon Nelson by the back of his jacket and started swinging him toward the nearest display.

  “—do that,” I said. “Don’t break any displays. And don’t break him.”

  Karl paused, as if considering whether he’d heard me.

  Demon Nelson squirmed and shrieked. “Defiler! You are not fit to speak to my master’s daughter. You will pay for your—”

  Karl dropped him headfirst onto the floor. Then he pinned him under one Italian loafer. I walked closer, staying out of licking distance.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “Nybbas.”

  He went on, giving his demon equivalent of rank and serial number. He was a demon under Lucifer. He’d gone AWOL a few thousand years ago and had himself a rollicking unauthorized shore leave in ancient Sumer, leaving death and destruction in his wake, until—as I’d seen in my vision—he’d ended up trapped in that box.

  Now he was out and very, very grateful. He presumed I was the one who’d set him free. It didn’t seem wise to argue.

  “I will repay your kindness, mistress,” he said, tongue extending, unsuccessfully, toward my shoes. “I will be your humble slave until my debt is paid, and then you shall tell your lord father how useful I have been, and he will take me back.”

  I’ve never met my father. Never wanted to. Again, though, I didn’t set him straight.

  “That’s very sweet,” I said. “I’m sure you’d make a wonderful demon slave, but it’s the twenty-first century and there are laws against that sort of thing. So how about I just let you go back to Hell, where I’m sure Lucifer will be happy—”

  “Nooo!” he howled.

  He leaped to his feet, catching Karl off guard, and darted out of his grasp.

  “I must prove myself first,” he said as he dodged Karl. “If I please you, my master will be pleased.”

  “Fine, then. Clean my condo for a few days and we’ll call it even.”

  “I must show my respect properly. I will prepare a feast in your honor. A feast of chaos. The sacrifice of a hundred souls—”

  “No! No sacrifices. I command—”

  “Hope?” A quavering voice called from the hall. “Is that you, dear?”

  Nybbas stopped and smiled. “The first offering.”

  “No!” I said. Then to Karl, “Catch—”

  Karl dove at Nybbas and knocked him to the floor. I raced into the hall. Outside the exhibit room, I slowed and tried to look sheepish.

  “Hey, Gran,” I said. “Caught us doing a little unauthorized touring. Karl wanted to see the Amulet of Marduk. He read about it in the paper.”

  “Is that what he said?”

  She smiled as her gaze traveled over my dress and hair, which was in even more disarray than usual. She tried to peer into the room. When I blocked her view, she chuckled.

  “Not in a state to be seen, is he?” she said.

  “Uh, no, he’s just—”

  “Karl is a very attractive man, Hope. Very powerful. Very . . . virile.” Her eyes shone with something that looked frighteningly close to lust and she tried, again, to peer around me. “It’s not easy to keep a man like that happy. It takes a lot of time and effort.” That sparkle again as she smiled. “But you seem to be doing a fine job of it. A fine job.”

  “Er, thanks . . .”

  She patted my arm. “I’ll cover for you. Just don’t be too long.”

  I returned to the exhibit to find Karl kneeling on the struggling demon.

  “She’s old,” the demon whined. “Let me sacrifice her, so she may do some good in her final days.”

  “That woman is my grandmother,” I said as I walked over.

  The demon stopped writhing. “She gave birth to his lordship’s chosen vessel?”

  It took me a second to figure out that he thought Gran was my mother’s mother. Though two weeks in Nassau had given my grandmother a nice tan, no one was likely to mistake her for Indo-American. But if this demon had racial identification issues, I wasn’t setting him straight. Informing him that Gran was actually the mother of the human who’d shared his master’s vessel didn’t seem like a good way to prolong her life.

  Nybbas lay still for a moment, then bucked, knocking Karl off. He leaped up and danced back out of Karl’s reach.

  “This one would make a suitable sacrifice,” Nybbas said. “A werewolf is a base creature, unsuited to be consort to a demon princess. Your father would be pleased if I rid you of this embarrassment.”

  “You want to kill me?” Karl bared his teeth. “You need to come a little closer first.”

  He grabbed for the demon, who backpedaled, then feinted and dove at Karl, managing to snag his leg and send him crashing to the floor.

  “Enough!” I said, jumping between them. “He’s not my consort. He’s my bodyguard.” I turned to Karl. “Stop playing with your prey and catch him. I command it.”

  Karl arched an eyebrow but charged, foreseeing the demon’s feint this time, throwing him down, then pinning him on his stomach again.

  Nybbas glanced over his shoulder. “I suppose, as a bodyguard, he is suitable. Sacrifices must be made, though. I will begin with my host.”

  Karl hesitated and looked down at Nelson’s body beneath him. Then he backed off, just a little. I glowered. He sighed, then leaned on the demon again.

  “The princess says you may not sacrifice your host,” he said. “Sadly.”

  Nybbas nodded. “And the princess must be obeyed.”

  “She must?” I said. “I mean, yes. She must. The princess commands that you are not to kill that host or my bodyguard. In fact, the princess asks that there are to be no sacrifices made on her behalf. She commands you to leave that body and begin your journey home.”

  “As you wish.”

  Nelson’s eyes glowed yellow, then faded to their normal brown as a warm wind circled us and his body collapsed, motionless, under Karl.

  “He’s gone,” I said.

  “Hmm.” Karl
rose.

  “Too easy?” I asked.

  “I’d say so.”

  “Damn.”

  I grabbed the soul box before we left the exhibit. When I caught up with Karl, he glanced at it and nodded.

  “Good idea. It’s more valuable than the amulet. Particularly given its purpose. It could fetch a small fortune on the supernatural black market.”

  “Very funny. I’m borrowing it, then returning it to the exhibit just the way it was before you tampered with it. Demon soul and all.” I tried to hand it to him as we walked down the back hall. “You open it; I’ll turn on my chaos detector.”

  “Open it?”

  “That’s how the soul got out. Just do whatever you did before. And quickly.”

  I pressed the box into his hands.

  “I think this demon princess business is going to your head,” he said.

  “Open it.”

  He took the box and examined it, grumbling that he didn’t know how he’d done it the first time so he could hardly be expected to do it again. I concentrated on picking up tendrils of chaos.

  I caught a blip of fear. I was homing in on it when a wave of chaos hit. I stumbled back. Karl caught me.

  “I think—”

  Darkness enveloped me. Voices chanted. A scream drowned them out. The rich coppery smell of blood filled the air. Hot droplets spattered my face. Someone intoned an incantation. The shrieks continued—the screams of a demon about to be cut from his mortal form and shoved into a very tiny box for a very long time.

  I yanked free of the vision. Karl was holding me. I was still standing this time, which was always a plus.

  “Did you find him?” Karl asked.

  I shook my head. “Just another flashback of him being stuffed in that box. Maybe we should split up while you try to open it.”

  “Or maybe I should just put it back because I can’t open it.”

  “Just keep—”

  A shriek cut me off. Karl spun toward the noise. A real scream, then, not a chaos playback. Some days, it was tough to tell.

  We took off in the direction of the scream. Everything had gone silent now, but I could feel undercurrents of chaos throbbing through the air. Karl headed straight for them, following voices, I presumed.