Текст книги "A Devil in the Details"

Автор книги: K. A. Stewart

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

10

The sun was just beginning its descent as I arrived at the hotel, and Kidd’s watch-puppy was waiting in the hallway, still wearing a suit and tie (though it was blue this time). I had to wonder if the man even owned any casual clothes.

“Mr. Verelli.”

“My client has a curfew tonight, Mr. Dawson. I expect it to be observed.” He pushed off the wall to scurry after me, taking two steps for every one of my long strides.

“Or what?” I was dying to know, really. He would have a threat prepared, if he was any kind of legal eagle.

“Or I will call the police and report him abducted.”

That brought me up short, and I burst out laughing. “Don’t you think that’s a bit much? Start small and work your way up, grasshopper. Don’t just jump straight to the big guns.”

He frowned at me, a crease forming between his eyes, showing what kind of bitter old man he’d become one day. “You are mocking me.”

“Every chance I get.” I turned to face him, blocking the hallway. “Look. I appreciate that you’re trying to protect your client, even if I think you’re more interested in your paycheck than his well-being. But this ‘Chihuahua yapping at my heels’ act is going to get old, real fast, so you may as well drop it now.”

He sneered. It had been a while since I’d seen a good old-fashioned sneer. “Demon slaying, Mr. Dawson? You couldn’t find a more believable scam? Phony tree-removal maybe? Shoddy roofing jobs?”

“The wooden nickel racket dried up.”

“I deal with con men on a daily basis, Mr. Dawson. I can smell one a mile away, and you reek.”

“Have you checked your cologne? That stuff can go bad, y’know.” I could keep this up all night.

He nodded stiffly, straightening his tie. “Very well, as you like. Everyone has secrets, Mr. Dawson. It’s just a matter of locating yours. If you don’t want that to happen, you will walk away from Mr. Kidd.”

I stepped closer and gave him my most evil smirk. I saw the moment he realized I had a good five inches on him. I may not be a bulky man, but I know very well how to use my height to my advantage. “Are you attempting to blackmail me, Mr. Verelli?”

I had to give him credit. He stood his ground, though I could see the faint sheen of sweat break out on his forehead. I was willing to bet he’d never been in an actual fight in his life. “I am merely educating you as to the consequences of any dubious actions on your part.”

“Man, you haven’t seen dubious yet.” I loomed just long enough to make him really nervous, then stepped back. “Get outta here, kid. Ya bother me. And learn to tie your shoes.”

I left him standing in the hallway behind me, fuming. I was almost positive he couldn’t do anything to me. Almost positive. Seventy percent sure. Okay, I wasn’t sure at all, and it was starting to worry me.

Sure, if I ran around telling the world I was a demon slayer, they’d lock me up and medicate me into vegetation. Hence, not doing that. I was okay with Junior’s not believing. But it was going to be a royal pain in the ass if he insisted on interfering. Seeing how easily he’d come up with information on my employment history, I had no doubt that he could dig up (or trump up) something to make my life more complicated. The question was how to get rid of him.

“Pompous little pencil-pusher,” I grumbled to myself as I knocked on Kidd’s door. He joined me with little fanfare, and we were on our way.

The old man was quiet as we drove north up the highway. He didn’t remark on my ratty truck, which was good, because he might have hurt her feelings. He even held my sword for me without question. There was a look of intense weariness around his eyes. I assumed he’d been arguing with Skippy the Chihuahua all day, so I could sympathize.

The sun was only a deep red glow on the horizon when we pulled off the highway. I tried to pretend it didn’t look like blood streaming through the darkening sky. I’m not a man who believes in portents, but things were just too weird lately. I took a few quick turns from the service road, and we pulled onto a seemingly random dirt road in the middle of nowhere. Only then did Kidd give me a quizzical look.

“It’s property that belongs to the airport. I did a favor once, and the security people look the other way if I need to use the land.” I didn’t owe him an explanation, but I hate it when people think I’m doing something shady and I’m not. Now, if I am doing something shady, then it’s all right for them to think whatever they want. What? I wasn’t always an honorable man.

I hopped out of the truck long enough to unlock the gate and swing it open. Then we bounced and rattled our way past the row of screening trees and into a large open area filled with tall prairie grass. I suppose it could be called a meadow, but that always makes me think of Bambi, which then leads to visions of some demon ripping Thumper’s head off and sucking him like a juice box. Until you’ve seen the things I’ve seen in the last four years, don’t be judgmental of my mental non sequiturs.

I used this place on the rare occasions that a local job dropped into my lap. It was secluded, impossible to see from the highway, and if the planes swooping low overhead happened to notice anything, it was easily explained as a trick of the eyes. We were in the dark of the moon, too, which would add to our concealment. With a witch for a wife, I had become very aware of the moon phases, and I used them to my advantage.

Kidd climbed out and watched as I removed my armor from the duffel bag in the back. Buckling it on was a lengthy process, but I’d become quite adept at doing it without help—and in the dark. “I thought the fighting wouldn’t happen tonight.”

“I said ‘most likely.’ Never take anything for granted.” I usually left the timing of the fight to the demon’s choice. When it came time for negotiating, there were other, more important things I’d want to secure first. I left the plated leg guards in the bag. I wasn’t about to wear new armor without giving it a good breaking in first.

Before I could do anything else, I had to pull my hair back, but since it was shorter now, doing so was a quick process.

“Is hairdressing really necessary?”

I wound the elastic band around it to hold it in place. “Loose hair falls across the eyes and creates a vision impairment. Gives the enemy an advantage.”

“Why don’t you just . . . cut it all off?”

“My wife likes my hair a little longer.” For centuries, men had done stupider things for worse reasons.

Though it was getting hard to see in the dark, I thought I saw him frown as I slipped the chest piece over my head. “You’re not wearing a cross.”

“Should I be?” Ninety percent of my clients mentioned it.

“Isn’t it . . . I mean, don’t you need protection?”

“The only thing that gives a cross power is the belief behind it, Mr. Kidd. It’d be useless in my hands.” Not entirely true. Faith was just another tool to harness magical ability. I had a distinct lack of both.

Though the night cooled quickly, the padding beneath my armor was stifling. Hopefully, this would be a quick negotiation and I could get it off.

“You don’t believe in God?” The concept obviously baffled him. It’s not an unusual reaction, but it was one that required more explanation than I usually had the patience to give.

“I suppose there’s something larger than myself at work. But I’ve never seen him, or her, or whatever. So I tend to believe in myself. In the end, I’m the only one who can let me down.”

He shook his head in amazement. “How can you see demons, believe in demons, and not believe in God?”

I had to grin. “Funny how that works, isn’t it?” Even amongst the people who do what I do, I’m an anomaly. I know this. Ivan lectures me on my lack of faith. He doesn’t understand that I do have faith. I have faith in myself.

Mira, on the other hand, carries more than enough faith in the unknown for both of us. The undersides of my leather bracers were carved with intricate patterns. It was Marty’s craftsmanship, but Mira’s precise design. As I slid them on, I swore I could feel a faint tingle, the sensation of Mira’s protective spells settling into place. I consider that the power of mental suggestion. I knew she’d put them there, so I imagined I could feel it. I suppose I did have more faith than I give myself credit for. I had faith in Mira.

Full dark had fallen by the time I finished my preparations and settled my sword on my hip. I sat the squirt bottle of nastiness on the hood of the truck, then motioned for Kidd to step out into the grass. “Go ahead. Call it.”

“You . . . aren’t going to draw a circle or anything? To . . . confine it?”

“You can, if you think it’ll work.” I shrugged, the chain jingling faintly. I’ve never seen a circle confine a summoned demon, even if I did have the juice to lay one myself.

Think on that, kiddies. Once you say that name, you give up all kinds of rights. When you speak that name, that demon has permission to be here with very few controls on its behavior. Sure, it can’t hurt you unless you let it, but you also can’t just tell it to sit and stay like a good puppy. Bargains, that’s all they understand. Their language is one of negotiation, tit for tat. And if they can get a bigger tit for a smaller tat, they will.

“Just call it.”

With one last uncertain look in my direction, Kidd stepped out into the tall grass and took a deep breath. “_______________!”

Not a sound meant for human mouths to utter, it should have been something impossible to pronounce. For one brief shining moment, my sanity rejected the unfathomable tangle of vowels and consonants and rage and despair and greed and . . . It’s impossible to explain how all that can be rolled up into one word. Pray—if you’re the type that prays—you never understand it.

I tried not to listen, tried to shut out the sound, but a demonic name is something that gets under your skin, into your skull. My ears rang, and my spine tried to crawl out of my body and run away whimpering. The logical part of my mind, the part that screamed that such a thing could not be, was reduced to raving gibberish, and the name lodged there, finding a home amongst others of its kind.

I willed my heart to slow, my breathing to resume a steady cadence. Releasing my grip on my sword was a concentration of effort, one joint, one finger at a time.

With the name seared permanently into my psyche, I could roll it around and compare it to the others that resided there. No, this was not one I’d tangled with before. There was always that possibility: that a demon I’d beaten could regain enough strength to come across again. It hadn’t happened yet. I’m not looking forward to it if it ever does. Demons don’t strike me as the kind to forgive and forget.

Nothing happened at first. Kidd shot me a puzzled look, but I kept my eyes on the edges of the dark clearing. Our bad boy wanted to make an entrance. Demons always did.

Quite often, animal vision is based on movement. You can hide in plain sight of most creatures, so long as you keep very still. In the dark, humans are reduced to animals, the shades of gray and black blending into nothing, leaving us with only our most primitive instincts to guide us. And the first flicker of movement in the trees caught my attention instantly.

An old god stepped from the trees, moonlight casting dappled shadows over a stag’s haunches, though the moon should have been dark for days yet. Leaves and vines twined about the bare male chest, catching in the antlers atop a curly head. He came forward with slow, stately steps, a look of profound sadness on his aged face.

I smirked. Drawn by the feel of Mira’s magic, he’d chosen his form. It was a good show, to be sure, but if he was looking to awe and impress, he’d misread his audience.

I heard Kidd gasp when he first spotted the god-demon, and wondered what he saw. Illusion was easy, even for the weakest of demons. People were inclined to see what they wanted to see. I doubted this one had the strength to take on the stag-god’s form in truth, so Kidd most likely saw whatever his mind conjured when it thought the word “demon.”

When it got close enough, I reached in the window of my truck and flipped on the headlights. The demon drew back with a hiss, out of character with the wise and benevolent god he tried to ape, and shielded his eyes. “Rise and shine, Sparky.”

From the look on Kidd’s face, I was pretty sure he was about to collapse. I shrugged at him, armor chiming. “What, you prefer something more dignified? Into the light, I command thee, foul demon?” I picked up the squirt bottle and stepped into the circle of light.

The god-demon glared at me behind the shadow of his hands, but it would not cross that barrier between light and dark. As far as I know, the light doesn’t actually hurt them. But man, they don’t like it.

“True form now. Please.” Politeness costs nothing. Yet. To illustrate what was going to happen if it refused, I sprayed the spice mixture into the air, adding cayenne to the scents of wilderness.

The demon growled softly. “You come with threats? Who are you to command me?” The voice slid through my mind like an oil slick, oozing taint and power.

“Pleased to meet you. Hope you guess my name.” That joke never gets old. I slay me. “True form. Now.” I changed the squirt bottle from mist to stream. It was like setting the phasers to kill.

It growled again, but the change was made. There was no mystic transition, no light show or swirls of smoke. One moment, he was simply one thing; the next, something else. That something prowled the edge of the light on four legs, and gleaming teeth glistened with the snarl. Hackles of ebon fur bristled in irritation.

I suppose I could call it a hellhound, but it just felt so cliché. It was definitely no Scuttle. I was dealing with a higher order denizen of Hell here, one I not so affectionately dubbed a Skin—that being what I wanted to turn it into.

The bestial demons were not the most powerful when it came to manifesting on this side of the fence, but their sheer physical prowess made them more dangerous than their humanoid brethren. In the war between good and evil, they were Hell’s Abrams tanks.

“I know what you are,” the beast snarled, pacing a few yards, then back again. “Slayer. Champion. Human weakling.”

“Hey, careful. My ego’s sensitive.” Watching the thing prowl the darkness, I thought seriously about putting down the bottle. My hand itched for my sword.

The hound sniffed in my direction, muzzle wrinkling. “The wards are not yours. I smell a female. You have no power of your own, fangless pup.”

To hell with it. I dropped my hand to my katana. None of them had ever sensed Mira before, and I didn’t like it. “I can show you my fang, if you want. Now, are we going to wave our dicks at each other, or talk deal?” Tact wasn’t my strong suit.

“I am here for a bargain, yes? For that one’s soul?” The narrow muzzle sniffed toward Nelson Kidd next. “Weak, diluted . . . hardly worth holding on to.”

“Then you can just give it back and we’ll call it good.”

The creature barked a laugh and edged into the light. With the concealing shadows stripped away, it was even bigger than I’d thought. It resembled a cross between a hyena and a wolf, with a large square head and hulking shoulders, but the size of a pony—a large, demonic pony. “I think not.” Its muzzle rippled when it chuckled.

“Name your terms, then.” I settled on the bumper of my truck, keeping my scabbard clear and being careful not to block the headlights. These negotiations could stretch on for hours.

“My offer is the soul of Nelson Andrew Kidd.” The demon went back to pacing. “What do you offer in return?” The stakes, that was always the first thing a demon asked for. They wanted their nice, juicy, Peep-flavored souls.

“My soul. The soul of Jesse James Dawson.” I swear I saw those black ears perk up at that.

The hound actually licked its chops in anticipation. “Your name is known to us.” Wonderful. My reputation preceded me. “Accepted. Name your next term.”

My right hand burned suddenly, starting between my first two knuckles. The smell of seared flesh filled the clearing. In the headlights, I could see a small black curlicue, no bigger than a snail’s shell, on the back of my hand. One down; who knew how many to go.

“Physical fight only. No magic powers or hocuspocus.” I couldn’t compete against something that could pop in and out of existence nearly at will.

It rumbled deep in its chest as it paced, a sound I took to indicate it was thinking. “You will forfeit your mystical protection then, as well. The female’s spells.”

I expected it—tit for tat. Calling for no magic was a fair deal, and Mira’s protection wasn’t going to stop a direct blow, anyway. My agreement to forego them would negate their power, with no effort on Mira’s part. No knowledge on her part, either. I wasn’t lying to her, precisely. And yes, I felt like a shit every time I did it. “Accepted. Next?”

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly as another portion of the tattoo scorched itself into my skin. Never let them know it hurts.

And so it went, back and forth. Negotiating challenge terms with a demon is rather like two attorneys picking a jury—an offer, a counteroffer, a veto. I had to be careful with my vetoes, though, because every one I used was one he could use, too.

And for every term, the contract was burned into my flesh. It covered the back of my hand and would probably reach my elbow before we were done.

I usually negotiated weapons first. As in, I wanted one. I’d never stand up against the fangs and claws bare-handed, no matter what my training. Preferably, I wanted something sharp or flaming; both, if I could get it. I’d roasted only one demon, but it had been a rather satisfying experience. I ended up with a “melee weapon of my choice.” (’Cause if I specified my katana, they’d find a way to break it, and then I’d be screwed. Always gotta be thinking two steps ahead.)

We addressed location, time, witnesses. I wanted secluded (less collateral damage); we settled on deserted. And while it may sound like the same thing, it most definitely is not. Semantics is everything with Hellspawn.

The demon agreed I could have a second—someone had to drive me home afterward since I’m seldom in any condition to do it myself—and waived that right for itself. Apparently, demons do not play well with others. I stipulated what was to be done with my sword, if I lost. It would be delivered to Ivan, not Mira. It was bad enough that Axel visited the house. I didn’t want any of these other creatures anywhere near my family.

The demon never stopped its pacing, but its mood could be told by the lift of its tail, the tilt of its ears. It conceded to some things it didn’t really like and was inordinately cheerful when I agreed to a challenge date “under the full moon.” A happy demon worried me, but I couldn’t think of any good reason to veto it. Nighttime was the right time, after all, with fewer witnesses and fewer chances for accidental casualties. And the two weeks until the moon came around again would give me time to truly prepare.

I wasn’t sure if it was early or late by the time we’d set all the terms we could think of. My right hand and forearm were covered in elaborate demonic art, evidence of the bargain I’d so carefully crafted. The smell had long since faded out of my awareness, and the burns had passed into a dull throbbing ache. By morning, they’d be set, and I’d feel no more pain.

Kidd watched the entire proceeding in a kind of dumb silence, finally electing to have a seat near the truck’s front tire. Maybe he even dozed a bit.

The demon vanished like the Cheshire cat, its toothy white smile remaining long after the rest of it had rejoined the night. “Under the full moon . . . I will be seeing you, champion. . . .” The insidious voice drew a shudder from me, despite my resolve not to let it rattle me.

Kidd startled when I nudged him with one knee. “C’mon. You missed curfew.”

The old ballplayer blinked up at me with bleary eyes. “What happens now?”

“Now you go play your ball games, Mr. Kidd.” I hauled him to his feet with one hand. “Go live your life for the next two weeks. Hug your wife, call your daughter, and tell her you love her. Then, come back.”

Either that answer satisfied him or he wasn’t fully awake for most of the trip back to the hotel. He didn’t say a lot until we pulled into the parking lot.

“I’m not the only one, right?” “Hm?” The lights in the lot cast blue– gray shadows over everything, giving Kidd a cadaverous appearance, deep shadows hollowing out his cheeks, ringing his eyes. I’m sure I looked just as bad. It wasn’t flattering lighting.

He stared at his hands in his lap. “I mean, that . . . thing . . . It has other souls, right? Other people?”

“Probably.”

“So . . . what happens to them, once you beat it?”

Not many people ask. They usually didn’t see beyond their own fate. It made me think better of him. “Well . . . nothing. Unless they find a champion and ask for help, they’ll just go on with that thing owning their soul. If they do decide to get out of it, the next champion that comes along will have an easier time of it, with the demon being weakened.”

That was, of course, a theoretical assumption. Since we’d started keeping track, none of us had fought the same demon twice. None of us had even fought a demon that someone else had encountered. It seemed their population was legion. That was a little depressing, if you stopped to think about it.

“I wish we could help them, too,” Kidd murmured, echoing my own thoughts.

I’d often wished for a way to get a roster of all the souls a demon held. Ivan insisted that, if a person was interested in saving himself, he’d find a way. But I’d always wondered—what if people just didn’t know they still had a choice? Maybe, if we could contact those people after a demon’s defeat, they’d be more willing to seek redemption, knowing the fight would be easier. Maybe they wouldn’t care at all. I was continually surprised by the foibles of human nature.

“Get some rest, Mr. Kidd. It’s late.” Or early, maybe. The clock in my truck said two thirty. I’d quit resetting it for daylight saving time years ago, so it was either right or an hour off. Either way, it was past time for good little boys and girls to be in bed. “Call me again in about ten days so we can make arrangements.”

“Thank you, Mr. Dawson.” He slid out of the truck and disappeared into the hotel. Wandering sleepily toward home, I was very pleased not to see any blue Ford Escorts in my taillights.