Demon Squad: Resurrection
By
Tim Marquitz

Damnation Books, LLC.
P.O. Box 3931
Santa Rosa, CA 95402-9998

www.damnationbooks.com

Demon Squad: Resurrection
by Tim Marquitz

Digital ISBN: 978-1-61572-397-3

Print ISBN: 978-1-61572-398-0

Cover art by: Jessica Lucero
Edited by: Kim Richards Gilchrist

Copyright 2011 Tim Marquitz

Printed in the United States of America
Worldwide Electronic & Digital Rights
1st North American, Australian and UK Print Rights

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any form, including digital and electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except for brief quotes for use in reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

To all my family and friends who have supported my mad endeavors.

Thanks to Jessy Lucero for all of my great covers. Thanks to Kim for having enough faith in my writing to keep taking me on. Thanks to all the readers who waited so patiently for the return of Frank.

Chapter One

There is no wound whose pain cannot be salved by the soft touch of a beautiful woman.

For me, it’s more like a little bump-and-grind, beauty optional.

It’s a good thing I’m not picky because Candy, the little filly rubbing up on me like buttered toast, wasn’t gonna win any beauty pageants. Short and a little on the bony side, sporting a wild mane of greasy hair, which failed to cover the pockmarks on her face, she wasn’t exactly a model of attractiveness. But that’s okay. You can’t feel ugly in the dark.

Not that I was bashing her, or anything. I was still there, right?

We both understood it was a business transaction. We weren’t looking for love. I was just renting a good time from a woman who wouldn’t bat an eyelid when I broke out the vat of Jell-o and a snorkel. She didn’t care about my broken heart or want to hear how my day went. She wasn’t looking to be the next Mrs. Trigg. All she cared about was the big, hard bulge pressed tight against her sweaty little hand.

My wallet.

Not in the mood to play games, I grabbed her hips and pulled her to me, leaning close to her ear so she could hear me over the throbbing bass of the club’s sound system. “You want to take a walk?”

“Already?” She plucked her glass off the table, taking a slow sip. “I’m not even finished with my drink.”

“What, you gettin’ paid by the hour?” I knew the routine: buy her a bunch of overpriced drinks and keep stuffing dollar bills in her skirt until closing time before I’d be given the pleasure of emptying my pockets for a quickie out back. Not up for the soft sell, I cut out the middle man. “Just chug it and I’ll throw in an extra hundred so you can drink to your heart’s content afterward.” That worked.

With a loud gulp, she sucked down the remains of her Jack and Coke, then tossed the empty glass onto the table. She hopped to her feet, tugging me up by my belt.

“What ya drivin’?” she asked, all about the romance while she pulled me toward the door.

“The primer gray Impala out back.”

“Ooh. Big back seat?” She was easily impressed. That worked in my favor.

“Room with a view.”

More of a show than tell kind of guy, I hurried her out of the Old Town strip club and around the back of the building to my car. I whipped open the creaking rear door, having left it unlocked for quick access, and rushed her inside. I slipped in after her, settling into the seat. Her hand was on my crotch an instant later.

“I hate to do this, but it’s cash up front.” She gave me a crooked smile, all feigned innocence and poor dental hygiene. She punctuated the sentence with a flutter of her fingers. “And don’t forget the hundred you promised.”

I grumbled as I pulled my wallet out, yanking several crisp bills from inside, and handed them over. She counted them with a pleased look on her face, then folded the cash before slipping it into the waistband of her mini-skirt.

On the clock, she undid my belt and attacked my zipper. Her lithe hands, nothing less than professional, went about prepping me. Not that it took much these days. A stiff wind and I’m reaching for a napkin. I’m loads of fun in a crowded x-rated theater.

Any other time, I’d watch Candy work her magic, but the club was situated at the outer edge of Old Town, just off the desert that surrounded the city. No matter what you had going on, it was best to keep at least one eye peeled in this neighborhood. This wasn’t the place to let your guard down.

As usual, my cynicism and paranoia were right on the button. I hated them for it.

Out of the corner of my eye, a figure shambled out of the darkness near the rear of the parking lot, just beyond the glow of the shimmering club lights. I watched for a moment longer and then Candy shifted from her hands to her mouth. My eyes shut for just a second, an involuntary moan slipping out. Without a doubt, the girl was gifted.

When I regained my composure, I looked back at the figure as he walked herky-jerky toward the club, muttering to himself. I chuckled as the drunk stumbled, weaving his way toward the beckoning neon signs that promised all manner of unsavory carnal delights. He had about twenty too many from the looks of him. Tomorrow morning was gonna be hell on him, if he made through the night.

Pretty low on the threat scale, my paranoia be damned, I looked away from the drunk and watched my money in action. Just as I started to relax and get back into the rhythm of things, I heard an angry shout, followed by a woman’s screech. Candy stopped and peered up at me, her eyes wide. Growling, I looked out the window to see a couple backing away from the wobbling drunk who’d apparently careened into them as they’d exited the club. Even from the car, I could hear him jabbering something incomprehensible while he moved toward them, wavering from side to side.

The couple’s faces were plastered with terror.

Thinking that was a strange reaction given the circumstances, I took a closer look. While I couldn’t really see the guy that well, I noticed he had his arms thrust out before him, reaching for the woman. Irritated, and not up to playing the hero, I tried to ignore the situation, urging Candy to keep going. That’s what bouncers are for. I paid for a good time, and I was damn well gonna get one.

That’s when I noticed them.

Out of the desert, from the same direction the drunk had stumbled in from, a huddled mass of figures appeared. Like the guy harassing the couple, they seemed to shamble forward, their steps awkward and rigid. They, too, were mumbling loudly, their words lost in the jumble of their raspy chorus. Unable to see them any better than I had the first, I let my senses loose. They drifted out, invisible tendrils of my spirit, seeking the bare essence of the approaching crowd.

A shudder ran down my spine right then, which had nothing to do with flickering precision of Candy’s pierced tongue. I felt the dim, flickering sense of residual magic coming off the group, dappled with a lingering taste of spiritual decay. There was something not right about these guys.

I reined in my senses and looked back to the club doors. The couple had retreated inside, but the drunk followed. A second later I heard someone cry out. Another second after that, a choir of horrified shrieks rang out, drowning out the music and rattling my eardrums.

Candy popped up again and I shoved her back down fast, pushing her to the floorboard on the far side of the car. She started to complain, probably thinking I hadn’t paid for any rough stuff, but I put my hand over her mouth, gesturing for her to be quiet. She complied meekly. She was confused and scared, but amenable. She hadn’t survived this neighborhood by being stupid.

“Stay down and keep your mouth shut,” I whispered as I packed all my parts away and did up my pants angrily, trying not to catch anything in the zipper. There’s something wrong with the world when a man can’t even pay to get off without interruption. I was gonna be asking for a refund, no doubt about it.

Things situated as well as they could be, I reached under the front seat and pulled out my chromed .45 and bullet belt. Candy whimpered as I checked the chamber, probably thinking I was gonna use it on her. I did my best to calm her with a toothy smile as I strapped the belt on.

“Don’t move. I’ll come back and get you once I figure out what’s going on,” I told her as I opened the car door as quietly as possible. Not knowing what I was dealing with, I didn’t want to announce my presence any sooner than I had to.

She nodded and sank further into the floorboard, grateful she wasn’t gonna get shot. I had no such certainty.

I left her behind and stepped out low, staying out of sight as I circled behind the shambling crowd; there were easily thirty of them. I could hear them speaking, but there was a strange randomness to it. They were talking but it made no real sense. Once I got closer, my stomach hit bottom as the sharp, bitter scent of rotten flesh assailed my nose, settling thick in my throat. I gagged, muffling the sound against my sleeve.

There’s nothing quite like the scent of death. No matter how often you encounter it, you can never get used to it, never prepare for it. It sticks to the air, a thick, damp breath of putrescence, which gnaws at your olfactory senses and brings tears to your eyes. It crawls inside your mouth and settles on your tongue like a putrid layer of grimy dust, the taste lingering for hours, sometimes days.

These guys were wallowing in it.

In my experience, there’s only one thing that can smell that bad and still be up walking, despite what you may think about some of the homeless you’ve encountered.

Zombies.

Just as I got close enough to confirm my suspicion, the rest of the club’s patrons burst from the door in a panicked dash, barreling right into the waiting horde of undead.

The zombies wasted no time. They tore in with abandon, moist arms flailing. Despite their appearance, tattered limbs flaking off chunks of mottled, gelatinous flesh with every movement, zombies are powerful. Strengthened by the magic that raised them, they’re meaty wrecking balls driven to destruction. The startled patrons found that out quickly. Live flesh and bone gave way to the unrelenting force of undead. Those unlucky enough to get caught up in the midst of the foul horde were quickly buried beneath a surging wave of decayed bodies. Limbs flailed and throats screamed as they were dragged under the hoary mass, sinking ships in a whirlpool of chattering death.

There’d be no washing that stink out.

With little time to waste, I leveled my pistol and took aim at one of the corpse’s heads, the only target of any intrinsic value on a zombie. I snapped off a quick shot that ripped through the base of its skull with a crack. What was left of its saggy face exploded into a spray of gangrenous flesh and shattered bone that showered the zombie in front of it. That one turned to face me and caught a bullet through the eye for its interest. Its body twitched once, then dropped into a heap beside the first. Two down. Too many to go.

A few more of the zombies turned at the sound of my gun, their empty sockets glistening with maggots and malevolence. Once they perceived the threat, they came at me, muttering eerily in challenge. While strong, zombies aren’t the fastest or the brightest of critters. That helped even the odds a bit. I was gonna need every advantage once the rest of them caught on. However, what they lacked in speed, they made up for in sheer, witless determination.

Kinda like some of my exes.

I fired another round, striking the lead zombie in the face, dropping it without a fuss. The corpse tumbled to the asphalt with a wet thud, impeding the path of the two behind it. Slowed even further by having to navigate over their fallen comrade, they were easy pickings. I re-ended their lives with two more bullets.

The ruckus drew more undead attention over the dwindling serenade of their club victims. Several of the more aware ones made their lumbering way toward me while others scattered, presumably to look for more victims.

Given a few seconds leeway, I cast a quick glance at the pile of bodies as I popped off my last two shots before reloading on automatic. I expected to see an ocean of blood and torn off appendages, but that wasn’t the case. Instead of carnage, there was a surprising neatness to the zombies’ attack. There was an apparent method to their undead madness. Pinned beneath the pressing wall of dead flesh, strippers and club-goers alike were being suffocated, the air squeezed from their gasping lungs.

That wasn’t standard zombie operating procedure.

I didn’t have time to think about what it all meant because a handful of zombies turned and shuffled toward me with grasping hands. I chambered a round and shot the zombie closest to me, before skipping back a couple of steps, letting lead fly as I did. I caught two more coming in, but the last couple made it past the hail of fire, partially sheltered by their slow to fall, dead-again compatriots. They were on me a second later.

The first caught my arm, yanking it down, the barrel of my gun pointed at the asphalt. The second latched its mushy, ripe arms around my ribs, gibbering like a sailor with Tourette’s. If I hadn’t been busy getting killed, I might have blushed.

My breath whistled from my lungs as the zombie squeezed tight, its powerful arms leveraging my ribs into my lungs with an audible creak. I gasped for air, but what little I could suck in was tinged with the sickly, bitter taste of rotting flesh. The zombie’s snarling face hovered inches from mine. I was almost tempted to give in just to avoid the stench.

Almost.

The gun useless, as shooting a zombie in the foot is as effective as asking a politician to do what’s best for his district, I dropped it to free my hand. Wrapped up in their arms, the first adding his insistent love to the embrace, I didn’t have much room to work. The only good thing about the situation was that they weren’t tearing at me or biting. That would have really sucked.

Zombie cooties and all that.

As things were, it was a contest of strength and will. While I couldn’t match them in the will department—zombies trended toward being relentless—I was more than a match for them physically. I also had the benefit of over four hundred years of martial arts experience.

Their Zombi-Fu was no match for my Mutt-Kung-Pow.

I twisted to the left, forcing my right shoulder down, my hand leveraged against the zombie’s side to create space. My shoulder slipped underneath its grip, freeing my arm to move, the left already loose. Posturing up as best I could under their weight, I set my hands on the side the zombie’s head, pressing it away and down. After I’d moved its face about a foot away from mine, I kicked its legs out and rode it to the ground, dragging its friend down with us. All two hundred-fifty pounds of my weight behind the move, the first zombie’s head slammed into the asphalt with a meaty thud, cracking open like a fetid egg. It went rigid in an instant, but a wafting wave of vile nastiness struck me full on, invading my eyes, nose, and mouth like a Mongol horde. Vomit roiled up in my gut in an instant.

Rather than fight it, I let it come. I turned my head and rolled to be on top of the second zombie, which still clung to me, as my stomach emptied. A rush of Budweiser and rancid fettuccine Alfredo—I’d had Italian earlier in the evening—spewed from my mouth. It streamed onto the zombie’s hoary face, pooling in its blackened sockets and flooding its open, howling mouth.

While it didn’t do anything to slow the zombie, it sure made me feel better. Although, I had to admit, the mixed scents were not an improvement. Pasta does not come up well. If I’d had anything else in me, I would have puked again.

Motivated to create some distance between me and old stinky-puss, I pulled my legs past its thighs and sat up on its stomach, breaking its grip. Free to move, I stood up fast, spinning away to keep it from grabbing ahold again as I stomped at its head. The first shot only clipped it, snapping its face to the side, but the second got it good. I felt its head smack the ground hard as I stepped out of its reach.

Like a turtle on its back, the zombie bucked and rolled in its attempt to get up. That gave me time to retrieve my gun. Just as the zombie got to its knees, I pressed the barrel against the back of its head and pulled the trigger. I returned it to the grave, albeit with a few less pieces attached.

Though I knew the time spent wrestling with the corpses had probably condemned the club-goers to a smelly death, I felt obligated to do what I could for them. I ran back to the pile to see the zombies pulling bodies out of the stack, tossing them over their shoulders. They were limp and lifeless, eyes wide and sightless. I was too late.

Frustrated and angry, the zombies ruining my night—oh, and killing people and stuff—it was time for vengeance. Better able to think things out now, I took cover behind a car and popped off a couple of rounds. As a pretty good shot, if I say so myself, two zombies fell with smoking holes in their heads. Then the second before the rest turned to look, I dropped out of sight behind the car.

Did I mention zombies were dumb? Well, not dumb so much as plain stupid. They operate on a purely instinctual level of function, only overridden by the desires of their master. In all but the rarest of cases, they don’t think or reason on their own. They only follow orders and react within the parameters of what they’ve been told to do. As such, the second I disappeared from sight, I no longer existed to them. Once out of sight, I was out of mind.

Unable to see me, the threat to their mission ended in their minds, they returned to their duty only to have a couple more of their buddies drop. Each time they went back to work, I repeated the process, ad nauseam. I couldn’t help but think it was a waste of good bullets.

Crafted by a minor angel and demon pair who worked for DRAC, the ammunition I carried—D/A slayers—was made to slay both supernatural species. Though they were effective on the zombies, regular bullets would have been too. But since I didn’t have any on me, I made do, griping every time I pulled the trigger.

After a few minutes, the rest of the undead still on site rested peacefully once more, each properly tucked in with a lead blanket. Unfortunately, so was everyone else who had ventured out to the club, it seemed. Bodies lay strewn across the parking lot in jumbled heaps. Blue faces stared up at me with accusing eyes, their necks twisted at awkward angles, throats and ribs crushed and deformed. The naked flesh of the strippers mingled with the clothed patrons in an orgy of death; a game of Twister gone horribly wrong.

Suddenly remembering Candy, I raced back to my car to find the back door open. A torn scrap of material, the same design as her tiny little skirt, was caught on the jagged edge of the door frame. Little drops of blood stained the backseat and led out onto the asphalt. From there, a barely visible wet trail headed off toward the desert.

That was just my luck. Even after paying to get laid, a zombie stole my girl. There is no justice.

Frustrated in more ways than one, I followed the trail to the edge of the parking lot where I found the rest of Candy’s skirt, along with her cell phone. Not remembering her having one, I couldn’t even begin to imagine where she’d had it stashed.

Actually, I could, but I didn’t think that’d help my mood any. It was obvious she’d been taken while I was busy wrestling around. I realized then I must have missed some of the zombies in the confusion. My eyes on the desert, I could see nothing moving in the darkness. Whatever zombies had made it past me had gotten away clean.

Tonight was a total bust.

I snatched up Candy’s phone and popped it open to find it still had service. Easier than hunting down a pay phone, a dying breed in this day of cheap, portable technology, I put her minutes to good use. I dialed the number to one of DRAC’s dummy corporations and rattled off the secret codes that told them I needed help, then hung up, slipping the phone into my pocket. As I waited for the telepaths to open a connection, I flipped over the wreckage of the skirt and smiled when I saw the wad of cash I’d given Candy still stuck in the waistband.

Even though I was facing a long, drawn-out night trying to figure where the zombies came from and what they were doing there, things were already looking up.

I’d gotten my refund.

Chapter Two

“So Frank, tell me again where you were when the zombies attacked?” Katon asked, one eyebrow raised in a dark imitation of Spock.

I growled as I met the amused gaze of DRAC’s enforcer, Katon De Peña. Dressed in his usual spiked black leather jacket and black jeans, Katon looked like he’d just stepped off the stage with Judas Priest. Despite my urge to sing “Breaking the Law” to him, I kept my mouth shut. It’s a feat that requires a hell of a lot of restraint on my part, let me tell you. Though it was a little easier dealing with Katon now that we’d survived the end of the world together, it was never a good thing to rattle his cage. He didn’t get the job with DRAC because he looked good. The man was deadly.

Or should I say vampire?

After a near fatal run-in with a bloodsucker, Katon’s spirit had been transplanted into the vamp’s body, granting him immortality and all the groovy accoutrements that come with being a top-of-the-food-chain living dead. He even managed to avoid inheriting the ‘sunlight kills’ part of the package, though he’d always been vague on the details of how that happened. I’d never pressed him about it, but I sure was curious.

All that and his being armed with a blade forged from a holy relic—the Spear of Longinus—made him someone you didn’t want to mess with.

I did it anyway.

“Do you want to hear the part where I had my pants down again? Maybe you’d like a visual.” I started to undo my belt.

Katon laughed, his eyeteeth glistening under the strip club’s strobe lights, their musical accompaniment long since turned off. “I can do without seeing little Trigg, thank you. I’m more interested in why you didn’t see the zombies coming.”

“What do you want to hear? That I was in the back seat of my car paying a woman for sex? Is that what you’re looking for?”

Katon’s mocking smile got wider. “Pretty much, yeah.”

I shrugged. Whatever pride I had has long since been buried and eulogized. It was little more than a transient memory against the backdrop of embarrassment that is my life. “It eliminates the after sex disappointment. I’m happy, she’s happy, the economy gets a boost. It all works out for the best.”

Chuckling, Katon turned and scanned the sprawling desert. Done teasing me, he got down to business. “They came from over there?”

I nodded, my eyes following his pointing finger. “There’s a trail of footprints that appear out a ways, but they don’t lead anywhere. Either the zombies just popped out of thin air or someone’s wiped their tracks away behind them. I’m not sure which. After that, it’s nothing but open desert with no clue as to what direction they went.” I gestured out past the parking lot, the early morning darkness still too deep to see through. “Whoever sent them had their escape route figured out.”

Katon stared at the lifeless bodies of the club-goers and shook his head. “You said they were trying to carry them off?”

“Yeah, it was weird. I’d never seen zombies act like that, going out of their way not to spill blood. They were almost gentle.” As if the act of murder could ever be described with such a delicate word. “They were definitely trying not to make a mess.”

Katon let out a quiet sigh and turned to face me. “I’ve heard from my sources, there have been quite a number of people going missing around here lately.”

“It’s Old Town. People disappear all the time.” My gut knew where he was headed, and I wasn’t happy about it.

“True, but not like this. Several late night businesses like this one catering to the less than coherent, all on the outskirts of town, have turned up empty. The day crews arrive to find the doors wide open, the lights on, furniture overturned like there’d been a tussle, but no people and no evidence of what happened.” He gestured to the twice-dead zombies on the ground. “I think you’ve figured out what’s been going on.”

A tingle of dread crept up my spine. It’d only been two months since Asmoday’s plot to bring about Armageddon fell apart and I wasn’t up for act II quite yet. “You think something big is in the works?”

“At this point, I’m not sure. However, no one goes through the effort to raise zombies and send them out to kidnap people without a reason. There has to be something going on. We just don’t know what.” I could tell he wasn’t excited about the prospect of supernatural drama anymore than I was.

“So, what’s the plan?”

“Wait for Michael and his clean up crew to finish, then see if they find anything that’ll point us in the right direction. After that, I’ll report to Abraham and get his take on it; standard operating procedure.” He shrugged. “We’ll go from there. Not much else to do.”

Abraham Solano was the top dog of DRAC—Demonic Resistance and Containment. As a psychic of amazing—if temperamental—ability, whose vision foretold of God’s disappearance, it was his mission we were on: to save the world from supernatural threats no longer bound by God’s rule.

Ever since the Big Guy and the Devil, my uncle, packed up and left for parts unknown, DRAC has stood against angels and demons, the undead, and even the living, to keep humanity safe, and for the most part, unaware. It was more than a full time job with lousy benefits. At least I had job security. If I didn’t die, that is.

“Abe will just send us someplace dark and nasty to get our heads ripped off.” I sighed. I might have been exaggerating a little bit, but not by much. Abraham had a knack for putting us in the thick of things. It was on us to find a way out. He was a good guy, but the mission came first. “Well, since there’s nothing left for me here, I’m gonna go home and get some sleep. I have a feeling I’m gonna need it.”

Katon nodded slowly, a glimmer of empathy in his eyes. “I’ll call you when we’ve got something.”

I waved and scampered off to the Impala, the lingering scent of my blue balls still evident. A few seconds later, I was rolling out of the parking lot, the strip club illuminating the rear view mirror. I stared back at the flickering lights and suggestive signage and let loose another sigh.

I was gonna miss the place.

Chapter Three

After pulling into my driveway, I sat in the car for a few minutes, just staring off at the dark house. Though I knew it was mine, the way it looked now threw me off. It was so different than how I remembered it.

After my old house had been destroyed by Asmoday’s pet wizard, Henry McConnell—The Gray—I spent a few months living on the couch in Abraham’s office while DRAC rebuilt it. Turns out, as a thank you for my services, they added on to it, all without telling me.

What had been a cozy three bedroom, single-story home with a small garage became a huge two-story, five bedroom house with a pool and a fancy balcony. They even installed a basement, a kind of mystical bomb shelter, I guess in case another wizard came a calling. Given my luck, it would come in handy one day.

As nice as it all was, it felt a little disconcerting. I’d lived in my old house for over eighty years. I’d gotten used to the way it was. I knew every little creak, every tiny nuance of the place. It was home. Now, with all the newfangled conveniences and high-tech gizmos, it felt like I lived in a hotel, minus the benefits of someone changing my sheets daily.

I grumbled as I hauled myself out of the Chevy, slamming the door behind me, the sound echoing down the early morning street. I didn’t bother to lock it. It really didn’t matter if someone stole it. I had, so who was I to judge?

As I strode up the sidewalk, I caught a glimpse of someone standing in the shadows by the awning. Having had my fair share of excitement for the night, I went for my gun.

Someone was gonna get shot.

As my hand settled on the grip and I prepared to loose my senses, I heard a soft voice ring out.

“It’s just me, Frank.”

The instant I heard her, I knew who it was. Veronica: the ex-wife. A caterpillar of disgust crept up my spine.

“Knowing it’s you is supposed to stop me from shooting?” Despite my anger, my hand dropped from my pistol.

She stepped out of the darkness and walked over to me slowly, her tattooed arms out to her sides. The colorful Asian-themed art stood out bright against her pale skin. As usual, she looked great. In less than an instant, I felt the blood rushing to my crotch as memories of our times together sprang to mind unbidden. For all its masturbatory value, I hated thinking about it.

Even more so when I couldn’t masturbate to it.

Dressed in form-fitting jeans and a t-shirt at least two sizes too small, her ample chest stuck out defiantly as she strolled toward me. She wore a two-foot, rune-decorated blade on her belt, to the left, and a long dagger hung off it to the right; new additions to her wardrobe.

Drawn to her hips by the shimmer of the weapons, I watched as they swayed rhythmically, mesmerizing. I tore my gaze from the serpent-like movement and planted it on her face. Her blue eyes swirled under the frame of her wild, black hair, cut just above her shoulders. A hint of a smile flickered on her lips and her button nose scrunched up all cute. She knew what she did to me. She did it on purpose.

I’d seen it all before. And though my crotch would always be at the mercy of her feminine wiles, quite willingly so, there was too much bad blood between us for this to be a pleasant reunion. Her latest betrayal struck me hard, piercing the part of my heart that was still far too human.

“What do you want, Veronica?”

The smile slipped from her lips, no doubt realizing she couldn’t just strut her way back into my good graces. She took a deep breath before she replied, “I hoped we could talk.” Actress that she was, her face melded into the appropriate emotional position to emphasize her words. It only made me madder.

“I’m really not up for it.” I tried to ignore my crotch, which was apparently of a different mind. He was always the rabble-rouser. I turned and headed for the door. “Good night.”

“Come on, Frank. It’s not like I had a choice.”

I spun on her. “That’s exactly what you had! You’re free now, just like the rest of us. You’ve nothing but choices.”

She fidgeted, her hands rubbing across her thighs as though she were trying to smooth something away. “Baalth has a contract on me. It’s how I escaped Hell.” There was a hint of accusation in her voice, seeing how it was me who sent her there in the first place.

I shook my head. We’d been over this before. My exiling her to Hell after she cheated on me was old news. She wouldn’t get any sympathy here.

She must have realized that, letting it go. “Baalth had me follow you. He knew you’d distract Asmoday long enough so he could sneak in and steal the angel out from under him.”

I felt my face light up. “You think I’m mad about that?” I growled, pacing back and forth to keep from exploding. “Baalth is a demon lieutenant, one of my uncle’s old guard and one of the first among the Fallen. I expect him to screw me. It’s what he does. Quite well, and often I might add, all without so much as an attempt at a kiss. I don’t give a damn about that. It’s all business, same shit everyday.” She looked at me with blank eyes. She had no clue. That hurt almost as bad as what she’d done. “You stole my uncle’s blood.”

Her face dropped. She’d gotten it at last.

“I rescued you from the dread fiends, healed you, and you repay me by stealing the only thing I have left of my uncle, the man who was more than a father to me? What kind of low-life, scumbag does something like that? Oh yeah, a succubus ex-wife who can’t see beyond her own tits to care about anything besides herself. That’s who.” I poked a finger at her, jabbing her in the shoulder.

“I hadn’t…hadn’t thought of it like that,” she stammered.

“Of course you didn’t. That would require you to have a heart, feelings.” I bit my tongue, swallowing the venom that frothed and clamored to be spat out. Only the fact that she was beholden to Baalth kept me from lashing out. “Once upon a time, I’d have given you anything, Veronica. All you had to do was ask.” I stared into her teary eyes, my gaze unwavering. “But those days are gone. You nearly cost me the only link I had left to the man who raised me, supported me. Loved me. If ever there was a line in my life, you crossed it.”

Her face dropped, her eyes staring at the ground. “I’m sorry.” I saw tears hit the sidewalk. “I didn’t realize.”

I shook my head, exhaling hard. The sad thing was there wasn’t any point in asking for the blood back. No matter how sorry she said she was, she’d taken it for a reason. As it always was with Veronica, only her needs mattered. It felt like we were married all over again.

All sorts of emotions were rattling around inside me: rage, hate, disgust. But somewhere under it all, a small, plaintive voice still cared. It whispered to me in sugary tones, begging me to let my anger go. To pull Veronica into a tight, warm embrace and let the past drift away. It railed for forgiveness, for reconciliation. None of it mattered, it explained. All of these negative emotions would be washed away in the haze of time anyway, so why not discard them now and take pleasure in the moment? That’s when I realized where the voice came from.

My penis.

Selfish little bastard. He’d never liked my heart much.

I sighed, the momentum of my fury stalled. In all my years, I couldn’t remember one argument I’d ever won against my crotch. I probably wouldn’t win this one either, but I wasn’t quite ready to concede yet.

“Why’d you really come here?” I had the feeling there was more to her visit than fence-mending. There always was.

She looked up at me, her eyes still moist. A flicker of hope danced across her face before retreating at the sight of my frigid stare. She wiped her eyes dry and sniffed. “Baalth wants to see you.”

What a surprise. “Baalth can kiss my ass.”

She snorted. “He figured you’d say that. He told me to remind you about the contract you two have. He’s calling it due.”

Damn it. I’d forgotten about that. In the midst of Asmoday’s world-ending adventure, I’d signed a contract with Baalth pledging to do some unspecified, minor task in trade for his help. It wasn’t a big deal. Demons did it all the time. It was the currency of the Demonarch, the demon world. However, if I failed to live up to the terms of the agreement, my soul would be forfeit. My energy and life would be devoured by Baalth, forever to be a part of him.

On the best of days, it wasn’t a good way to go out.

“Tell him I’ll stop in and see him in the morning,” said the puppet on a string. “If that fits his majesty’s schedule, that is.”

Veronica nodded. Baalth must have known I’d say that too. “He’ll be at Club Dread around ten. He says to not be late.”

I dug Candy’s cell phone out of my pocket and checked the time: 4 a.m. I groaned as I put it away. “Well, if he expects me to be on my best behavior, I need sleep.” I half-assed waved her off. “Night.”

She turned to go, then stopped cold. She cast a glance back at me over her shoulder. “Are we all right?” Her voice sounded quiet, shaky almost.

I met her gaze. “No.” Her chin drooped, her eyes drifting down. A twinge of times past rattled my heart, no doubt spurred on by my dick. “Maybe we will be… someday.” I swear the little guy is a ventriloquist.

A slight smile graced her lips as she raised her face to look at me. She knew better than to say anything, to push her luck. She’d gotten all she could hope for. She gave me a curt wave and disappeared into the darkness.

Alone at last, I went to the door. The mystical wards set up to guard my house had been ramped up as well, during the renovation. Almost as soon as I felt the gentle tingle of their scans, the front door popped open to let me in. Once inside, the door closed behind me and secured the property.

I guess the new house wasn’t all that bad. It had its perks. The security system was nice. I didn’t have to worry about losing my keys anymore, which happened a lot in my line of business. Hard to keep things in your pockets when your pants are always being burnt off or shredded.

DRAC also replaced my damaged, worn furniture as well as all of my electronics, which had been destroyed by McConnell’s blast. That was the most noticeable difference inside the house. I’d gone from a knobbed tube-television and an 8-track player to a 50” flat screen HDTV with a DVD player and a house-rattling stereo system. Talk about culture shock.

It took me two weeks to figure out the damn buttons to work the TV were on the side. I’m not even gonna admit what I thought the remote was used for. Let’s just say it took a while to un-stick the buttons.

Exhausted, but my mind too active to sleep, I strolled into the living room and plopped down in my old, wobbly Lazy-Boy; the one piece of furniture to survive the devastation. It squeaked its appreciation at our reunion. We’d been together a long time.

Comfortable at last, I snatched up the remote and turned the TV on. As the screen flickered to life, I leaned back and set the remote aside. If I couldn’t sleep, I could at least find something constructive to do.

Who knew porn would look so good on a big screen?

Chapter Four

Up just in time to make my meeting with Baalth, I whipped into the almost empty parking lot, wiping sleep from my eyes. At least I hoped it was sleep. It’d been an explosive night. There’s no way to reliably account for all of the fallout.

I’m sure my maid loved me.

As presentable as I could bother to be, my jeans and t-shirt almost clean, I got out of the car and slipped around to the front entrance of Club Dread. While an ominous moniker to be sure, the place didn’t quite live up to it. Don’t get me wrong, there were a few things that went on there that inspired dread, but little which truly fit the spirit of the name.

As the sole surviving Goth club in El Paseo, Club Dread had a monopoly on the souls of the disenfranchised. A rundown, ramshackle hunk of a building, which fit snugly within the shadows of its towering neighbors, the inside beckoned its black-shrouded customers with the lure of the perverse. Stone-faced ghouls and grinning gargoyles hung guard along the walls, squeezed in amidst the somber portraits. Images of suffering and joy set to canvass in mournful reds and blacks.

A handful of battered tables sat huddled in crowded corners while a couple of worn and stained couches held court on a raised dais. Lifeless pillows were scattered about the room. Willowy curtains, stained yellow from years of cigarette smoke and incense, dangled from the dim light fixture.

If those couches could talk, they’d say, “Eeeeewwwwwwww.”

The dance floor was a concrete slab that made an open grave look spacious. A seizure-inducing disco ball dangled over it. The bar across from it was stocked with the barest of wares, Absinthe showcased prominently amidst the cheap whiskey and red wines. Above its shelves hung the trademark tools of the club’s ministerial mistress, Delilah; the whip and the paddle.

If ever there were to be dread found here that didn’t involve a three-hundred pound man wearing face paint and a ragged black dress stumbling into the bathroom stall behind you, it would be Delilah who provided it. Quick to anger, and even quicker to punish, if the paddle were in her hand, someone was going home raw.

And they’d be grateful for it.

Many were the nights I’d spent here, voyeuristic in a shadowed corner, beer in hand, watching the black-clad assembly dance to the whims of Delilah and the cruel beats of the Switchblade Symphony. What went on while the doors were open was nothing compared to the depravity and primal carnality of what occurred after hours. Just thinking about it got my blood to flowing.

Save Hell, there was no place like it.

Empty, and with the light of day illuminating every dusty corner, its magic collapsed under the weight of my memories. I couldn’t bear to see it that way. Sighing, I made my way toward the back room, keeping my eyes straight ahead to avoid ruining the last bastion of the twisted and perverse I’m still allowed to visit.

At the closed storeroom, I knocked and entered without waiting. Off to the side, shoved between the narrow shelves of liquor bottles and cleaning supplies, was a small wooden desk. Behind it sat Baalth.

While immaculate in appearance, his hair and goatee salon perfect, he looked haggard about the eyes. That surprised me. Having slain the angel Glorius and inherited his powers, ramped up to extreme levels thanks to Asmoday, I figured Baalth would appear the bastion of confidence. More powerful than any demon had ever been except for Lucifer himself, he shouldn’t have had a care in the world. That didn’t seem to be the case. He looked worn out, exhausted. It didn’t bode well for our conversation. I glanced over at his ever-present flunkies. His muscle bound enforcer, Marcus D’anatello, and the mentalist, Alexander Poe, wore similar expressions on their faces. The only difference between them and their boss was that both of them looked like microwaved shit. Bruised and battered, the pair looked like they’d gone ten rounds in a broom closet with a prime Mike Tyson. I could only imagine where the mop heads ended up.

It brought a smile to my lips.

Marcus snarled at me as I shut the door. His monstrous frame appeared a bit wobbly as he stepped forward, taking his customary place out in front of Baalth, at the edge of the desk. His bald head was covered in seeping cuts, many of which were stitched shut. Unlike his usual vociferous self, Marcus kept his mouth shut. It was like an early Christmas present.

Poe was pretty much the same. His narrow cheeks were bright purple, with shades of yellow and black peeking through, here and there. His eyes were swollen, one almost shut, and his jaw looked a bit misshapen.

Apparently irritated by my amused perusal, he waved me to a seat, also without saying a word.

Curious, and a bit concerned for my own safety, I dropped down into the chair, sitting on the edge of it. “You summoned?” I did my best to ignore the elephant in the room. The fact they hadn’t searched me spoke volumes.

Baalth cleared his throat. He sounded sick, if that were possible. Demons didn’t catch colds or the flu. Outside of the more virulent STD’s—not that I’d know anything about them, honest—demons were immune to mortal illness. It really made me curious as to what kind of company Baalth kept lately.

Oh yeah, my ex-wife. That explained a lot.

“I need someone killed.” Baalth was anything but subtle.

While I’d ended people’s lives before, more times than I’d admit, it had been mostly in self-defense. Not that I’m entirely opposed to killing a person, you should see me on the freeway during rush hour, but I’m not the assassin type. I had to draw the line somewhere, however hazy or indistinct it may be.

“I’m not the guy for that. Besides, murder’s a little much considering the terms of our contract.” I’d sold myself cheap, but not quite that cheap.

Baalth snarled. The room shook, the bottles on the shelves clinking together. “I’m not interested in your pretense of morality. There is a thorn in my side that needs removing and I want you to pluck it out.” I felt the ground tremble beneath me. I’d never seen him so angry. His face looked strained, as though his skull pressed against it, trying to get out.

Though I didn’t dare say it, I wondered why Baalth didn’t do the deed himself if he wanted it done so badly. Rather than piss him off by asking, I took a shot at compromise. “How about, I deal with your problem, but you let me worry about the details?”

He leaned back in his chair, almost gingerly, and steepled his hands on the desk in front of him. He glanced up at Poe and Marcus, then turned back to glare at me. He nodded after a long while.

“Who’s the thorn?”

Baalth grunted and gestured for Poe to explain. Through clenched teeth, the mentalist did so.

“As I’m sure you’re aware, Mister Trigg, there have been several instances of zombies abducting Old Town residents.” Despite his injuries, Poe never let a crack show in his professional façade. His voice was smooth, the delivery flawless. If I weren’t able to see him, I’d never have known he was hurt. “We were able to witness one such encounter, trailing the undead to see where they went. Not surprisingly, they made their way to Rest Land Cemetery.”

I chuckled inside. It was a popular cemetery, staffed by employees of questionable morality, a couple of which just happened to be my friends. I’d hidden a number of bodies there myself over the years. What better place to dispose of a corpse than a graveyard?

Poe continued. “Before we were able to discern what they intended with the victims they carried off, we were attacked. While I can offer no concrete details as to our assailant’s appearance, or even his whereabouts, he is armed with twin swords with which he is quite adept.”

I glanced up at Marcus’s head wishing the swordsman had been a bit more adept. The big ape could have used a closer shave, starting at his throat.

“Had it not been for the arrival of McConnell, neither Marcus nor Alexander would be alive today,” Baalth added with the barest hint of gratitude in his voice. “That bastard needs to be dealt with.”

“We’re still talking about the assailant, right?” Given what the wizard had done, had it been him that Baalth wanted killed, I’d have taken on the job for free. Shit, I’d have paid to do it.

Baalth’s upper lip curled into a snarl. “Speaking of The Gray—” He motioned to Poe, who went and opened a back door in the storeroom.

Henry McConnell stepped inside. His cold blue eyes locked on me, his shaggy, white-bearded face neutral. I could feel my cheeks flushing. There was no love lost between us, or found for that matter.

“I kept him out of the room to avoid any awkward attempts at retaliation.” Baalth raised an eyebrow. “There won’t be any, will there?”

“I’m not promising anything.”

I glared at McConnell. A huge guy by any measure, close to three hundred pounds of solid muscle, The Gray was an imposing figure in snakeskin boots. Backed by magical talent rivaling a good number of upper echelon demons, the cowboy was a serious threat. I knew the man’s heart. He was cruel, hateful, and downright ruthless.

He was also a coward.

He came close to killing me and Rahim Alakha, DRAC’s resident wizard badass, but once on the losing end, he gave up his master faster than Paris Hilton gives up video rights. He ended up in a pretty bad spot, but Baalth saw fit to recruit him after the Asmoday fiasco. I’d have let him fry.

“How’s Mrs. Claus?”

Apparently warned ahead of time to be good, McConnell took the jibe in stride. He stayed quiet, but he never took his eyes off me.

“Let it go, Triggaltheron.” Baalth used my given name knowing it’d annoy me. “McConnell works for me now. You’ll treat him as you would any of my other employees, understanding full well the consequences of harming him.” His dark eyes bored holes in me. I felt the ground rumble again. “Are we clear?”

“As mud.”

Baalth leaned forward. “Don’t test me, Frank.” The seriousness of his etched face gave me pause. I could see fire whirling in his eyes.

I raised my hands, not wanting to set him off. “I’ll leave it be, for now.”

Baalth sank back into his seat, apparently willing to let it go at that. “Good. Now I want you to go to Rest Land and see what you can find. I want the bastard who attacked my men gone, however you take that to mean.” He gestured to The Gray. “You’ll take McConnell with you.”

“You have got to be kidding,” I complained. “Don’t worry Jesus, Judas has your back.” I glared at McConnell. “Made any silver lately?”

Baalth jumped to his feet, his fists slamming into the desk, splinters of wood exploding from its shattered top. “If I wanted you dead, I’d kill you myself. I wouldn’t send some lackey and derive myself of the pleasure of choking the life out of you with my own two hands.” I could have sworn I saw a hint of drool glistening on his lips. He looked far too pleased as he rattled on about killing me. It was time to cut my losses.

“Fine, I’ll take the redneck, but if he so much as farts in my general direction, I’m sending him back in a box.”

Baalth dropped back into his chair. “Take care of this and your debt is cleared.”

I liked the sound of that. With nothing left to say that wouldn’t get me in trouble, I nodded to Baalth, then Poe, followed up by a sexy wink at Marcus, and headed for the door.

“Let’s go, cowboy.”

Not bothering to see if McConnell was behind me, I made my way through the empty club and out to my car. While I’d been distracted by my animosity of the wizard, it hadn’t entirely slipped past that Baalth sent me to do his dirty work when he had the firepower to handle it himself. There was something going on, and as usual, I was probably the only one who didn’t know what.

Not that it ever stopped me before. At least if Baalth was setting me up, I was gonna take his pet hillbilly down with me.

Chapter Five

On the way to the cemetery I blasted the stereo, for no reason other than spite. With Slayer’s “Raining Blood” oozing from the crackling speakers, I watched in giddy pleasure as McConnell cringed every time the discordant squeal of a King/Hanneman guitar solo erupted. It was petty, but oh so satisfying.

At Rest Land, I turned the music down out of respect. Not so much for the dead, they’d proven way too often respect was a notion that didn’t carry over, but rather for the mourners who tended their graves. However callous I may be about the concept of death, you had to admire the dedication of a person who takes time out of their hectic life to remember and care for a loved one who’s passed on. While there was nothing I could do for them that would make their loss any easier, the least I could do was not add to their grief.

I parked the car near the maintenance area and looked out over the green fields to see where my buddies were working. After spotting the guys several gardens over through the misty haze of the sprinklers, I turned to McConnell.

“Sorry about the rough ride.” I patted the Impala’s dashboard. “I know it’s probably not quite as much fun as riding bareback like you’re used to, but you took it like a champ.”

Yeah, I went there.

McConnell shook his head. “Look, Trigg. I’m not interested in being here anymore than you are, but it’s just business, hear? The boss says we gotta do this, so that’s what needs to be done. T’ain’t no two ways about it.”

“That may be so, Yes Man, but that doesn’t absolve you from trying to kick my head in, or for blowing my damn house up. You can say you were just following orders all you want, but it was you who pulled the trigger; personal responsibility and all that crap. So, at some point, I’m gonna take it out of your hide.”

He shrugged. “Be careful what you wish for, mutt. I don’t see any magic-dampening manacles lying around.” He gestured to the car, a cocksure smile springing up behind his snow-white beard. “Lady Luck ain’t always gonna play your side.”

I grinned back at him, but to be honest, I wasn’t feeling as confident as I came off. He was right, as much as it sucked to admit it. I’d gotten lucky stumbling across the manacles that shut his magic down. If I hadn’t, things would have played out very differently. Round two would probably be a slaughter, my ass on a hook. It was a sobering thought.

“Just don’t add me to the naughty list, Santa.” Not in the mood to talk my way into an ass-beating, I veered off. “Let’s get this over with.”

Nodding his agreement and smiling from ear to ear, McConnell hopped out of the car. As I climbed out, I fought the urge to shoot him in the back and shoved my hands deep into my pockets just to be safe. Once the feeling passed, I took off down the road to where my buddies were digging a hole. The wizard stayed a few steps behind. Not interested in letting him see how much our talk rattled me, I let it ride, striding boldly in front. By the time I reached my friends, my jaw hurt from all the teeth clenching.

The rumbling sound of the backhoe echoed through the quiet cemetery, the screeching grackles doing their best to compete. The birds were winning, much to the regret of my ears.

I made my way across the grass, dodging the headstones and raised memorials, making sure to avoid the clusters of plastic flowers and religious figurines piled en masse around the graves. Near the center of the garden, I sidled up alongside a dusty little guy who stood leaning against a parked red tractor. To its right was an orange dirt-mover, its bucket noisily biting into the ground with a rumble.

“How’s it going, Javier?”

He glanced at me, giving a crooked smile before turning back to shout up at the backhoe, “Hey, Carlos. Look who’s here. I told you we’d be seeing this vato soon, esse.” Javier stuck his hand out.

Wondering what he meant by that, I shook it, trying not to think about how many dead people he’d touched with it today.

Javier was not a bather.

As I wiped my hand off on my pants, as subtly as I could, Carlos shut down the backhoe and climbed out slow and deliberate, as though it were a trial to do so.

“Hey, Frank. Who’s this chango?” He gestured to McConnell as he strolled over to us.

“He’s with me. It’s cool.”

Both men looked The Gray over like they were sizing him up for a casket. I couldn’t blame them, but I wasn’t gonna get any answers if they were suspicious of him.

“He’s one of Baalth’s boys. A couple of his guys got jumped here the other night and he wants me to straighten it all out.”

They looked McConnell over for another few seconds, then Carlos turned to me and nodded. “Yeah, we heard something about that.” He motioned to Javier.

“We could probably tell you something, if we weren’t so busy, you know?” He kinda shrugged, little brown poofs of dust rising up off his shoulders.

Like almost every other person I dealt with on a daily basis, they all wanted something. The dictionary people should retire the word “free” as nothing truly ever is. “So, what can we do to help alleviate your workload?” It was wheelin’ and dealin’ time.

Carlos smiled wide, his wiry mustache sticking out like cat whiskers. “Seems some of our customers are getting up and walking away. That’s cool and all, shit, we could use the extra spaces, but it’s turning out to be a lot of work filling in all the new holes.”

I laughed. I couldn’t help myself. Not that I was surprised the zombies Marcus and Poe tracked here were actually from this cemetery, but it came across as a comforting sense of serendipity. Not to mention, it got me off the hook without having to do another favor for someone. The dirt boys and I wanted the same thing, even if they didn’t know it. It let me look magnanimous without putting out any effort.

“It’s not funny, homie,” Javier complained, getting animated.

“Nah, I know. I feel ya.” I raised my hands to pacify him. His funk was starting to creep as he jumped around and I didn’t want to catch too big a whiff. “I’ll help you guys. Tell me what’s going on.”

McConnell shook his head. He looked like he was enjoying the show. Graveyard TV: Two Vatos and a Hole.

Carlos stepped in. “Marvin, our night watering guy, noticed the dug up graves about a week ago. He was setting the sprinklers when he fell into one of the damn things. After he got out, took him four hours he said—”

“That’s because he’s fat,” Javier explained, apparently feeling left out of the conversation.

“Yeah, he is,” Carlos agreed without missing a beat. “Anyway, he found a bunch more empty graves and even saw a couple of the corpses walking off into the desert out back. He knew then something was up.”

You think?

“How many bodies have taken off?”

“Man, it’s hard to keep track, but I’d say maybe two hundred, maybe more.”

I looked to McConnell, his face no doubt mirroring my own surprise. That was a lot of zombies. Either George Romero was shooting a movie in town, or something big and sinister was going down.

“Have you reported them missing?” The Gray asked, clearly not used to being on the interrogator side of the equation.

Carlos looked at him like the wizard had spilled his last beer. “Yeah, to you, cabron. What am I going to do, tell everyone that their dead mamas y abuelitas went to stretch their legs?” He rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Of course we didn’t tell nobody, fool. I need my job. If I go blabbing that people’s familias aren’t being taken care of here, they’ll shut this place down.” He glanced over at me. “Besides, not all them vatos that got up and walked away are on the books, you know what I’m saying?”

I did. I headed Carlos off before he could say anymore. I’d already agreed to help him so the less of my extracurricular activities he let McConnell know about, the better. The wizard might one day be among my collection. I didn’t want Carlos to spoil the surprise.

“Did any of the corpses come back, that you noticed?”

Carlos turned to Javier, who shook his head. “Not that we’ve seen. None of the holes we filled have been messed with, or anything.”

“Has there been anything else weird, besides the bodies?”

Javier answered. “There were some flashing lights upstairs in the crypts.” He pointed off to the mausoleum.

Painted in an earthy pink, with a red-tiled roof, the mausoleum stood at the center of the cemetery, framed by a wall of towering Firs. A little over two stories tall, the building housed concrete crypts, set into the walls. Hundreds of embalmed bodies were stored inside, separated from the living by only an inch-thick marble slab and a thin piece of plastic held in place with window caulking.

“Marvin didn’t see nothing else up there. Course he didn’t have the huevos to really look, but with the lights and all that shit, it’s probably a good place to go looking,” Carlos added.

“We’ll do that. Thanks.” I waved to the guys, glad to put some distance between me and Javier’s stink. Give me a dead body any day. “I’ll handle this.” They nodded as I nudged McConnell into motion.

We walked in silence to the mausoleum, Javier and Carlos’s eyes on us the entire way. Still during business hours, we strolled through the front doors like we belonged there. A wave of subtle, permeating decay met us at the entrance. McConnell covered his nose, his eyes narrowing. I drew in a deep breath. No matter how bad it smelled, it wasn’t Javier. That was an improvement.

I led the way down the quiet, carpeted halls, passing the closed chapel on the way. The bronze placards stood out against the marbled white faces of the occupied crypts. Their sparse memorials were a far cry from the grandiose decorations that surrounded the graves outside. With little more than a few brass rings holding small, brown vases filled with wilted flowers, there wasn’t much to be seen. The mausoleum had an air of solemnness to it.

Unlike the rest of the cemetery where nature worked to reclaim what it lost, life springing up all around, the crypts were barren and cold. No matter how many corpses were raised to traipse about, there would never be life here.

Bummed out by the mausoleum, I hurried and found the stairs to the upper level. Taking them two at a time, I arrived to find the same, somber arrangement as below. If nothing else, death was consistent around here.

While not a massive area to search, I didn’t have a clue as to what I was looking for. However, after a moment surveying the floor, it became pretty obvious that whatever we were looking for, it had to involve the crypts if we were gonna find anything at all.

The deep red, carpeted floor was mostly clear and pristine. There were a couple of neutral-colored couches that sat at opposite ends of the room, but nothing else to block the thoroughfare. On the walls behind each was a large, stained glass window. Motes of dust floated in the gentle light that filtered through their colored faces.

At a loss, I gestured to the marbled squares which ran five high, almost to the ceiling. The bottom crypt was doubled, the lower half sunk into the floor.

“Let’s check out the crypts and see what we can find.”

McConnell shrugged and started imitating me as I ran my hands across the smooth marble aimlessly. Monkey see, monkey do.

I moved off in the opposite direction from the wizard, assuming I was wasting my time. It’s not like I could pop open the crypts and look inside—at least not during the day. As such, it was a half-assed search at best. Frustrated, I moved through the halls speeding up as I got further along. My eyes glazed over at the sameness of everything, the whitewash of marble and gold. The monotony was only broken by the rare picture of a loved one taped to the crypt face, and the occasional crucifix or two. Figuring the night guy had too much to drink to know what the hell he was talking about, I felt I was sure this was turning out to be a snipe hunt. To counter the humdrum sameness, I paused and glanced out the window. As I looked out over the sprawling cemetery, I saw Carlos and Javier. They were back at work, continuing to dig the same hole. From my vantage point, I could see a large number of graves the zombies must have risen from. Patches of brown dirt marred the green fields, way too many to have been recent burials.

I shook my head at the amount and drew in a deep breath. The air by the window was sour, fetid, damp even. I worked my tongue around a bit, trying to build up some saliva to wash away the taste. It wasn’t leaving. I ran my hand around the edges of the window, thinking maybe it was just a draft stirring the smell up, but I didn’t feel anything. Out of nowhere, another thick wave wafted up and dusted my nose, the scent way thicker where I was standing than it had been anywhere else in the mausoleum. It caught my attention.

I spun in a slow circle, taking in everything. That’s when I noticed a scrap of something dark caught between the crimson carpet and the one of the bottom crypt faces. I bent down and snatched it up. When I did, an even thicker wave of decay assaulted my nose without mercy. I covered my mouth and examined the scrap, realizing it was a piece of rotten flesh, dead so long it had shriveled and blackened. Discarding the skin, then continuing my examination, I saw the thick carpet had been pressed down somewhat, right in front of the crypt.

If there was something to find here, this was it.

Quietly, my eyes on the crypt face, I went down the hall and called out for McConnell. After a moment of what seemed like obvious hesitation, he wandered over. I put my finger to my lips and motioned I’d found something. His eyes narrowed and he followed me back in silence. A shimmering gray energy flickered at his fingertips.

Back at the crypt, I squatted in front of it, running my hands along the seam. That’s when I noticed the bolts that held the crypt face closed were missing. Two small wires with looped ends were slipped through the bolt holes and held the crypt closed from the inside. They were practically invisible until I was right on top of them. This had to be something related to our undead infestation.

I gestured for McConnell to keep an eye out. I shooed away the images of falling silver coins that flashed through my mind, and sank my fingers into the cracks between the crypts. With a gentle tug, the face came free in my hands. The stench that had alerted me to the crypt, drifted out thick, hitting me head on. I gagged as I set the marble plate down. The nastiness settling into my throat, I stepped away to catch my breath. After a moment, when I was better prepared to face the stink, I looked beyond the facing to see only a dark hole. There was nothing discernable beyond that.

Not waiting for McConnell to man up, I drew my gun and stepped forward, leaning in to peer into the double crypt. I expected to see a cement floor just a few feet below where I stood, but was surprised to see nothing but more blackness. As I surveyed the darkness, a quiet rumbling echoed up through the crypt.

“There’s a passage here,” I whispered. Brave man that he was, McConnell motioned for me to go first.

I stuck my tongue out and turned back to the hole. If Baalth hadn’t been so insistent that I not hurt his pet, I’d have pushed the bastard in head first. I had to admit, I was still tempted. Only the strange way Baalth had looked, his pent up anger boiling just behind his eyes, kept me from doing it.

There was no doubt in my mind Baalth would kill me. Even worse, it wouldn’t be a quick death. He’d make me suffer in ways I didn’t feel comfortable even thinking about. McConnell wasn’t worth all that, but it sure felt good to imagine. With a big smile on my lips, I got on with the task at hand.

Uncertain of how far the passage went down, I holstered my gun to free my hands. While thinking I was gonna regret doing so, I crouched at the crypt entrance and talked myself into climbing inside. After a deep breath to calm my nerves, I grabbed the edge and swung my feet over and let them drop into the darkness. Even at six-three, I hit open air, my feet dangling. I glared up at McConnell.

“You better follow me down, cowboy.” With no point in worrying if he didn’t, I let go.

In freefall for several harrowingly long seconds, I discovered the bottom was easily over a hundred feet down. I hit the ground hard. The air was knocked from my lungs in a huff as I landed in a heap, but I didn’t feel anything break.

Unsure of what might be in there with me, I hopped to my feet fast. With solid rock beneath me and blackness all around, I inched forward as I caught my breath, drawing in deep gulps of the rancid smelling air. Something dead was in here. At least I knew we were on the right track.

Off a ways into the blackness, the distance hard to judge, there was a dim, flickering glow. To get my bearings, I looked up, the shimmer from the mausoleum above doing little to chase away the dark. Right then, McConnell appeared above me, momentarily blocking the light as he floated gently down beside me.

I growled at him, my voice low. “You can levitate?”

He nodded, his smile glistening in the gloom.

Bastard. “You could have said something.”

“You did all right.” His grin grew wider. He was enjoying this too much.

Ignoring him, and the urge to put a bullet in his eye, I drew my gun once more and headed off down the tunnel at a creep. The carved stone passage was almost tall enough for me to stand upright and the sides were about a foot and a half from each of my shoulders. I moved forward slow, McConnell’s scuffling feet behind me letting me know he was still there. His presence was reassuring, let me tell you.

What’s that old saying, between a cock and a hard place? The enemy behind, the unknown ahead, I was feeling mighty vulnerable.

After about fifty yards, the glow was just in front of us, illuminating the start of a bigger chamber. I eased forward, my palm sweaty on the grip of my .45. The funky smell stirred with our passage and grew with every step. At the end of the tunnel, I squatted down and peered into the room beyond.

Cut out of the earth, the chamber was easily a hundred yards across and about twenty high, all rough-hewn. A row of dim, battery powered lamps hung from the furthest wall, providing just enough luminescence to see by.

On the floor below them, like a scene out of a World War II documentary, were haphazard piles of corpses, heaped on top of each other, five to six bodies high, in some places. All in various stages of decay, the fresher bodies had oozed bile and embalming fluids, which had formed glistening pools on the stone floor. Arms and legs lay akimbo, no apparent order to the collection of dead bodies. As my eyes took in the mass of lifeless faces, there was one I recognized. My stomach hardened into a tangled knot.

In the heap, nude from the waist down, was Candy. Though I didn’t know her well, our relationship cut short, I was sure she didn’t deserve this. It was a pretty lousy way to go, her body hidden in a cave, dumped amongst the nameless, rotting corpses of Old Town like so much trash. It was a bitter end.

While sickened by her death, her life gone to waste, I still had work to do. I returned my attention to the bodies. I didn’t bother to count them, but it didn’t look like there were two hundred. It was probably something closer to seventy. That meant there was another hideout somewhere or the dead were on the march. I sighed at the realization. Nothing was ever easy.

Seeing no movement, I let my gaze slide across the rest of the room. To my left were several shrouded alcoves cut high into the walls, their depth impossible to tell from where I stood. I’d have to keep an eye on them.

The rest of the room, away from where the bodies were, was empty, but there on the floor, etched into the rock, were a large number of magical symbols I didn’t recognize. Schooled as I was in demonology and the dark arts, that was surprising. I dredged my memory to see if maybe they’d simply been buried in the murk, under thoughts of a particularly good night out, but there was nothing. A little common sense told me they were necromantic in nature, given all the zombies, obviously, but that didn’t tell me much about their true purpose.

Unable to decipher the symbols, I decided to record them. I pulled out Candy’s phone, feeling a twinge of guilt knowing she was lying just a few feet away, and snapped off a few shots. Tiny clicks accompanied each picture, the sound over-loud in the confines of the cavern. The images, while a little dark and spotty, would be good enough for what I needed.

McConnell grunted behind me, shuffling his feet. Realizing he couldn’t see past me in the cramped quarters of the tunnel, and thinking I didn’t want to get caught unaware in a space I could barely move in, I stepped into the room. As he followed me, I heard him hiss. I glanced back to see him staring off past me, his eyes grim.

I mouthed the word, “What?”

He pointed to the corpses. “They know we’re here.” He didn’t bother to whisper.

I turned around slowly just as a gentle creaking, like a ship moored at low tide, sprung up behind me. My heart dropped into my stomach when I saw the corpses on the pile rising up, slowly getting to their feet. They groaned a horrible threnody, spewing bouts of random nonsense as their blank stares settled on us.

I slid the phone back into my pocket. “Time to go.”

I spun around to run but before I could take a step, a hail of zombies dropped down on top of us from out of the alcoves; the same ones I told myself to watch and had forgotten to do so.

Under slabs of rotten flesh, I crashed to the floor, narrowly avoiding having my nose bitten off. Assaulted by the smell as much as by the zombies, I squirmed, trying to get them off me. To my relief, my gun hand was free. Twisting my wrist into an awkward angle to point it toward the corpses, knowing it was gonna hurt for a while—if I lived that long—I snapped off a round. The recoil whipped my hand back and slammed my knuckles into the rock floor, causing an explosion of pain before going mercifully numb.

Though I was gonna have a hard time using my right hand effectively, the pain was worth it. My shot struck the top zombie in the side of the head. Its dead again body rolled to the side, and off me. I helped it along, using its bulk as a bulldozer to muscle the other two that were gnawing at me, off my chest. It worked somewhat. My upper body loose, I sat up just as a pair of gnashing teeth tore into the meat of my calf.

Biting back a scream, I pressed the barrel of my gun against its biting head and blew a fist-sized hole in it, my hand twinging like a motherfucker. Its head snapped back and crumpled, leaving behind its teeth, still buried in my leg. I shot the other one and swiped at the embedded teeth, knocking them loose in jagged little pieces. With a growl, I examined the wound. A gooey greenness was mixed in with the blood.

“If I catch Corpse Creep, I’m gonna kill you again,” I shouted at the toothless undead while I hopped to my feet. My leg gratefully supported my weight, though it felt as if it were on fire.

I glanced around for McConnell. He, too, had been caught off guard by the attack. While I played zombie snack, he must have freed himself. A pool of melted, disfigured flesh and yellowed bone encircled him. Steam wafted up from the waxy zombie puddle as he stood with clenched fists, sparkling gray energy whirling about his hands.

When the rest of the horde approached, their chaotic symphony of gibbered epithets leading the charge, he let loose. A fiery blast of energy burst from his hands, slamming into the clueless zombies. The temperature in the room rose by twenty degrees as the front line of undead exploded into ash. Black clouds filled the air, biting at my lungs. It was like sitting in a sauna that was built inside an ashtray—the perfect stop smoking ad.

Coughing out the bitter blackness, I watched as the next wave of zombies ignited with gray flame. Its touch was virulent, contagious. Methodically, the fire leapt about the room, attaching itself to the corpses like sentient napalm, sparing everything not undead, for which I was quite grateful. The surviving zombies shrieked their incoherence at the wizard, their ranks going up around them faster than a California hillside. They were pissed.

McConnell roared back, his energy building once more. He raised his hands, readying to finish the job. Right then, I saw a blur of black spring from one of the alcoves. It dove toward us. My mind whirled. It had to be the guy who attacked Baalth’s men. No zombie could move like that.

I spun and tried to track him with my gun, firing, but he was too fast. My shot whined off into the darkness. Less than a heartbeat later, the shrouded figure, dressed from head to toe in what looked like a ninja outfit, landed in a crouch beside McConnell.

The wizard barely realized he was there, focused as he was on the zombies. There was a flash of silver, followed by an arc of crimson that flung blood across the room. McConnell let out a pained cry and clutched at his stomach. He stumbled backwards toward the tunnel, his pants discolored with an ever-growing red stain.

I dove forward, angling myself for a clear shot, and let loose a barrage. The assailant saw me coming. He ducked, using The Gray for cover, and leapt to an alcove. The move was pure grace. He stared down at me for a split-second, his masked face hiding his expression. I leveled my gun as his cold eyes bored holes through me. Before I could get off another shot, he disappeared into the shadows just as McConnell collapsed.

Torn between chasing the guy and helping McConnell, my rarely present conscience took the lead. Hatred being too weak a word to express how I felt about the cowboy, he had probably saved my life. I couldn’t have decimated the zombies like he had. There’s no telling how I would have fared against the horde alone. I at least owed him a chance at survival, if nothing else.

My eyes peeled on the alcoves, my teeth grinding, I raced to his side holstering my gun as the few remaining zombies made their way toward us. I took a quick peek at McConnell, looking to assess the wound. It was bad; real bad.

A chasm of intermingled red and black ran a good twelve inches across his stomach, just below the beltline. It was ugly. The floor beneath him was slick with dark blood and there was a stinging, bitter scent coming off the wound I couldn’t recognize. Whatever it was, it’d have to wait. Unceremoniously, I dragged him bodily back into the tunnel. It was too narrow to carry him.

A trail of crimson bled out behind us in the passage and The Gray’s quiet moans punctuated the seriousness of his condition. As quick as possible, I hauled him back toward the crypt. There was no time for gentle. Deep down, I can’t say I was all that bothered by it.

At the base of the ascent, I propped him against the wall. “I need your help, McConnell.” I lifted his chin so we were eye to swimming eye. His were glassy and unresponsive. “If you want to live, we’re gonna have to do this together.”

He groaned, his head bobbling weakly. He was losing a lot of blood and I didn’t have time to staunch the flow, the zombies catching up. I could hear their garbled voices rebounding through the tunnel, drawing closer. Unable to fly, I was gonna have to do things the hard way. I yanked my shirt off and spun around, pressing my back into McConnell’s barrel chest.

“Put your arms over my shoulders,” I shouted, reaching back to help.

After a few fumbled attempts with McConnell doing nothing to help, I managed to drape his meaty arms over me. Using the shirt, I tied them together, just above the elbows. He grunted as I pulled the shirt uncomfortably tight. I muttered a half-ass apology while I yanked my belt off, my ammo cartridges dropping to the floor with a clack. I hoped I wouldn’t need them.

To the insistent sounds of approaching zombies, I leaned back against McConnell, drawing a muffled protest as I used the wall to support us. No time to be nice, I grabbed one of his legs and yanked it up, draping it over my own. I did the same to the second. Then I wrapped the belt around his ankles, circling it around until I barely had enough room to cinch it. Once I’d locked it in, his legs secure around my waist, I spread my own legs a little more to keep his from sliding off as I turned to face the wall. I caught a glimpse of shambling zombie as I did.

Spurred on, I stretched out, and pressed hard against the wall with my elbows, forearms, and feet. Finding the vague impressions of hand and footholds, I dug in, pulling us up. Weakened and unable to hold on, McConnell shifted downward as unconsciousness claimed him, the knotted shirt pulling tight against my collarbones and throat. I could barely breathe, but there was nothing I could do about it. The alternative was never breathing again. I couldn’t let that happen. Do you know how embarrassing a killed by a zombie epitaph would be?

“Ever hear of Jenny Craig?” I asked McConnell, sounding like a frog, my voice croaking. Built like a brick shit house, the wizard was a big, steaming pile of dead weight.

To make things worse, the rough rocks were like razors against my skin, slashing my arms to ribbons as I ground them into the walls to support our ascent. Now wet with my blood, the already awkward movement became even more difficult as each bracing thrust opened more wounds, adding to the slickness of the walls. I glanced up as I inched my way toward the mausoleum, the square patch of light seeming a million miles away.

Below me, I heard the jabbered call of the zombies, their shuffling feet on the rocks nearby. We were still too close to the floor, my legs and McConnell’s fat ass still within reach. I pressed harder, squirming upward, grinding the bones of my arms against the jagged walls, whimpering like a beaten dog.

All of a sudden, I felt a tug that nearly pulled me from the wall. I managed a glance back as I leveraged myself, damn near tearing my shoulders out of their sockets. What I saw tied my stomach in knots. An enterprising zombie had latched a hand onto McConnell’s belt, adding its weight to ours while swatting at the wizard’s exposed back with the other.

McConnell regained consciousness with a hoarse shout as the corpse carved red troughs along his spine. I bore down harder as The Gray’s pained twitches threatened to yank me from my unsteady perch. My arms screamed out in agony. The bones of my shoulders ground together.

“Damn it, McConnell, stop squirming. You’re gonna get us killed.” I thumped my head against his to draw his pained attention. “I can’t hold us much longer. I need a boost.”

His only response was a grunt that showered my neck with warm, bloody spittle. He was passing out again. I thumped him once more, getting a growl in response.

“Now, McConnell!”

Though he said nothing, I saw a dull gray sputter to life around his hands. It flickered for an instant, then died. I felt his weight shift as the zombie tore into him again. We both cried out at the same time. Chunks of my arm peeled back against the sharp edges of the wall as our combined weight dragged us down an inch at a time, slow and excruciating.

I growled in frustration, doing my best to keep us stable, but it was a losing battle. That thought was reinforced as another zombie appeared alongside the first below. I heard its gibbered voice mingling with its buddy’s. Its grasping hands joined the effort to tear us from the wall. It wouldn’t be long until they succeeded, my arms going numb.

Just as I contemplated dropping, figuring I’d take my chances in the hole, McConnell’s hands lit up again. A strained moan escaped his lips as I felt the pressure on my arms relax, our weight buoyed by his magic. A split-second later we were being pushed upward, gathering momentum. I tucked my arms in to avoid having them ripped off as we hurtled upward, and loosed a sigh of relief.

The comforted feeling didn’t last long.

I looked down and noticed we still had a passenger, one of its dead hands clasped tight around the wizard’s leg, the other swinging loose. To make matters worse, McConnell’s head was slumped against my shoulder and the glow had retreated from his hands. That, however, didn’t stop our ascent.

I looked above us and saw the light from the mausoleum, which had looked so far away earlier, was now hurtling toward us way too fast. I groaned.

“Wake up!” I screamed, but McConnell didn’t bat an eyelid. He was too far gone to hear.

It was just my luck. I’d escaped being mauled by a gaggle of zombies only to be smashed against the rock ceiling. After which, I’d no doubt fall back down and crash into the stone floor where I’d be set upon once again and mauled by said zombies. This was working out great.

Not interested in either scenario, I curled my legs up tight against my body and tucked my head a bit, doing what I could to change my angle in regard to the narrow shaft. McConnell’s body arched over me, placing him somewhat between me and the fast approaching ceiling of rock. While not my intent, I can’t say I could give two squirts about the fact he’d hit first if things didn’t pan out. The maneuver, however, did nothing to shake our zombie hitchhiker. It still held on, its free hand latching ahold of my injured calf to ensure its grip. Its fingers dug into the wound and I gritted my teeth.

Though I knew we were gonna hit something, no matter what I did, I was hoping I could change the angle and minimize the impact to give us a shot at getting out alive. Not much of a plan, but it’d have to do. Simplicity works best for me.

Just as we reached the bottom of the open crypt entrance, about four feet from the roof, I kicked my legs out, slamming them into the wall. When they connected, I pushed with all my might redirecting our momentum. It worked...

...kinda.

My head and shoulders shot out through the crypt, but it wasn’t enough. We were moving too fast. McConnell’s back slammed into the ceiling hard, followed a split-second later by the zombie crashing into us.

The impact drove the wizard’s head into the back of mine. Stars exploded in front of my eyes, my vision whirling as our ascent ended abruptly. Through the haze, I felt our weight return. Gravity, my old nemesis, had reasserted itself. We were falling.

In a panic, I reached out with both hands and grabbed whatever I could. My fingers sunk into the soft, thick carpet and latched on. It didn’t take but an instant to realize that wasn’t gonna work.

Red strips of carpet peeled away like from an orange, curling up in strips between my fingers. I shouted a million epithets as we fell, tumbling back into the hole.

As my hands slid past the edge of the crypt, I tried again, desperate. This time I got lucky. My fingers locked onto the concrete lip. I bore down with everything I had, the sudden snap of McConnell’s and the zombie’s weight nearly tearing my fingers off. My hands and arms felt as if they were being massaged by a blowtorch as McConnell slipped down, pulling the shirt tight against my throat like a noose. I gasped, unable to breathe. Frantic, I dug in while summoning every ounce of energy I could muster. I fought and I fought, inching my way upward. The relentless zombie tore at McConnell all the while.

Each torturous inch was like crawling a mile naked across a carpet of glass shards. Every muscle in my body shrieked, but at last, I’d gained enough ground I could leverage my arms against the sides of the crypt opening. With one last agonizing effort, I’d pulled us through far enough that only our lower bodies hung inside the hole, not counting our zombie hitchhiker. It clung on viciously snapping at McConnell’s back, which probably looked like bloody hamburger by now.

Comforted by the solidness of the ground, my heart still doing somersaults in my chest, I could at last do something about the zombie. Unable to reach my gun, I started to kick, lashing out with everything I had. It wasn’t much, but fortunately, it was enough. The zombie slipped loose and fell back into the hole, chittering madly.

Free of the undead, I slipped McConnell’s arms from around my neck and sucked in a deep breath, my throat raw. Even so, it felt glorious. But with no time to waste, I undid the belt that held the wizard’s legs to mine and pulled him the rest of the way out of the hole. Once I’d done that, I rolled him over. What little optimism I’d gained from our escape withered.

While not disemboweled, the wound was as close as you can come without being so. Not having the skills to deal with it, I yanked my shirt off his arms and used it to stuff the wound, keeping pressure on it with one hand. With my free hand, I dug out Candy’s phone and put a call into DRAC.

If McConnell was gonna live, he’d need more than my help.

Chapter Six

At DRAC headquarters, the doctors wheeled McConnell off in a hurry. Recruited for being the best at what they do, their empathic psychic talents augmenting their surgical skills, he was in good hands. Though his wounds were serious and he’d lost a lot of blood, they believed he’d make it. I guess that’s good news to someone.

Fortunately for me, my wounds were nowhere near as severe. With the exception of the bite, my injuries were caused by natural means, the majority of them having already closed. Only a few of the deepest cuts still remained, their puckered edges creeping together, knitting shut with each passing minute. I’d have to see to the bite later.

Thanks to my demonic heritage, I didn’t have to worry about most of the injuries I sustained on the job. Only those caused by supernatural sources—magic, undead, demons or angels, et cetera—required assistance to repair.

Unfortunately, even in an age where magic was its most refined, it couldn’t do much in the way of healing. More a tool for destruction than anything, magic lacked the subtlety needed for such delicate work. Outside of beings like God or Satan, no one really had the control to adapt their power to heal.

That was too bad for McConnell. Though getting the best care humanly possible, there were no guarantees of success. There was only one other option that offered him a better chance of survival and that was off the table: my uncle’s blood.

Gifted to me by Lucifer before he disappeared, the blood was a potent source of power. A few tiny drops would heal most any wound, no matter how grievous, in but a minute. A beneficial side effect to it, when taken in bulk, was that it granted a short-term surge of magical energy that increased strength, vitality, and physical resistance.

Down to the last two vials, the others either stolen by my ex-wife or broken by McConnell’s assault on my house, there was no way I was sharing, especially not with the wizard. Regardless of what he’d done for me in the tunnels, he wasn’t deserving of my uncle’s gift. Baalth would just have to be angry if the bastard croaked.

Speaking of Baalth, I gave him a call. After explaining everything to Poe, who no doubt was using his powers as a mentalist to see if I was telling the truth, I was passed on to the demon. Baalth hopped on the line growling.

“Where’s McConnell?”

“He’s at DRAC, in surgery.”

I could hear a rumbling in the background. “Will he make it?”

“If there’s a chance, it’s here.”

Baalth was quiet for a minute before he responded. “The piece of shit that did it?”

I sighed. Baalth believed in killing the messenger. “He got away, but I’m still on the case.” I tried to sound positive. It’s really not my strong suit.

Another rumble kicked off, the line crackling with static. “Finish the job.” A barely repressed hiss of anger tinged his words. “Have McConnell returned to me as soon as he is out of surgery and stable. My people will take over from there.” He hung up. Whatever was grinding his gears had to be serious. I’d never heard him so on edge.

Muttering to myself, I hurried to Abraham’s office. He’d want to know what I found. Comfortable from the months I’d slept on the couch, I opened the door without knocking and slipped inside. The scent of old wisdom hit me instantly. Lined with wall-to-wall shelves, loaded down with ancient books and magical texts, the office was an occultist’s wet dream.

The desk, on the other hand, was a maid’s worst nightmare. Piled with overflowing files and an assortment of paperwork, pens, and stained coffee mugs, the face of the desk was nowhere to be seen.

Out from behind the computer monitor, its sides covered in brightly colored sticky notes, Abraham peeked out at me. “Have a seat, Frank.”

He went back to work, ignoring me as I sat. Though his face was lined with concentration, he looked good; healthy, happy even. His recent hookup with Rachelle Knight, DRAC’s mentalist, third member of the High Council and resident ditz, must be doing him some good.

During the Asmoday coup, he’d been exhausted, worn to the bone and it showed. Not that the impending end of existence would be easy on anyone, but Abraham was a sensitive soul who took humanity’s ills as his own. Like the mythical Atlas, he held the world aloft, his shoulders bearing its massive burden.

A shiver ran down my spine as I leaned back in the chair rubbing my eyes. My imagination far too vivid for its own good, I couldn’t get the image of a nude Abraham holding up a globe out of my head. Gratefully, Rahim’s arrival distracted me.

I looked back at the door as the tall wizard lumbered in. Dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt, his normal outfit a tailored suit, Rahim appeared frustrated. His face was scrunched, lined. Tall and dark, I normally couldn’t help but picture him as Darth Vader. It was a little harder to do today.

Two months out from a broken back, mostly healed thanks to the magic of my uncle’s blood, there were still some signs he had yet to fully recover. Though subtle, he walked with a limp, his pace deliberate, careful. He’d lost some weight too. Always a physical man, almost in spite of his magic, he’d been lean and powerful. Now, he looked like he’d been on a crash diet; his chest narrow, his limbs thin and wiry. While he spared me a big smile as he walked by, I saw him wince as he dropped into the chair behind Abraham’s desk. His wounds had taken their toll.

Abraham stopped what he was doing and glanced over at Rahim. I caught the glimmer of the look that passed between them before they turned to face me. As usual, there was something I wasn’t being told. It was standard operating procedure around here. I tried not to let it bother me.

“You were at Rest Land? What did you find?” Abraham asked.

I nodded as I brought out the phone, scrolling to the photos before passing it over. “Other than a heaping pile of dead bodies and a vicious assassin, there wasn’t much of interest there except for the symbols.” I gestured toward the cell.

Abraham examined the pictures while Rahim looked at me with raised eyebrows. “Assassin?” he asked, his Barry White voice trembling a bit.

“I’m not sure what he was, but assassin fits as well as anything else I could call him. That’s who took out McConnell.” I had his full attention as Abraham clicked away on his computer. Able to multi-task like no other, I knew he was still listening, so I just went on. “Baalth called in a favor and asked me to go after a guy who’d laid a beating on his lap dogs. After he told me they’d been looking into the Old Town disappearances, I went along figuring I could work some intel on the side. He sent the cowboy with me, to keep me in line no doubt, and we stumbled onto a hidden chamber beneath the mausoleum.” I passed on the exact location as Rahim wrote it down.

“I presume the assassin got away by your lack of information on him.”

“Yeah. The bastard was fast, plus I needed to get gray boy out or his boss would have a conniption with my name written all over it. I didn’t even get a good look at the guy.” I shrugged, knowing my lack of solid information didn’t help.

Abraham looked up from his computer, mumbling something under his breath. He sat back, glancing at Rahim, then to me. “Our zombie-animator is likely a necromancer named Reven.” He snapped the phone shut and set it on the desk.

I shook my head not recognizing the name. Rahim appeared to, but didn’t seem impressed by it.

“Those symbols you found are resurrection sigils. They’re used in necromantic rituals to, obviously, bring the dead back to life.”

“How do you know it’s this guy, Reven, that’s doing it?”

“Unlike magic, Necromancy is a more unique, individual craft. While certain aspects of it are common, holding to the tenets of the art as defined by Zarek Ashu, the first true necromancer, it has evolved as an individual pursuit. Much of the literature has been lost or destroyed over the years, forcing the would-be necromancers to adapt their methods. Each has their own way of tapping into the power to raise the dead, and as such, their styles have become calling cards, of a sort.” He pointed to the phone. “The symbols you found match those of Reven. It’s him, or perhaps an apprentice of his.”

“I’ve never heard of the guy. Is he powerful?”

Rahim shook his head, stepping in to answer, “Not in the traditional sense. Of course, anyone who can raise the dead is a threat, but he’s certainly not on Asmoday or Gabriel’s level, or even that of your cousin, Scarlett.”

I shrugged, noting his intent. You see, Scarlett is an angel, and I’m not talking about her personality. To be honest, she can be a bit of a bitch sometimes. But anyway, I’m talking a full-blown, holy angel that lives in Heaven. While not a world-beater, she has her share of magic.

She helped us thwart Asmoday and his plans for world destruction, but that whole adventure kinda messed her up a bit, not that she was all that stable to begin with. She never understood God’s disappearance, not that any of us truly did, nor could she understand the chaos that cropped up afterward. Her worldview had been blown out of the water when the Angelic Choir split into factions and began to fight one another. The angels always were a family, their only falling out being my uncle and his followers. It broke her heart to witness the unexpected dissension that tore her home apart.

Her heart took another hit when she learned Gabriel, God’s archangel, had joined forces with Asmoday. It shattered completely when Gabriel captured her and handed her over to the demon lieutenant. After Baalth ended Asmoday’s coup, Scarlett returned to Heaven in a fury, determined to help restore peace. I hadn’t seen her since.

“So, what’s our concern here?” Though his little zombies had proven annoying, I couldn’t picture this Reven guy as much of a threat. Fun on Halloween, sure, but he was clearly not a mega-villain.

“Mostly that we don’t know what he has in mind. He’s raising zombies to kill and kidnap the living, and while that’s certainly enough to warrant our attention, there has to be more to it.” Rahim sighed. Like Katon and I, he didn’t look up to dealing with another crisis.

“Reven’s too old to be your assassin. Did you find any signs of him at the cemetery?” Abraham asked.

“No, but I wasn’t really looking. He could have been there. The zombies did get up and come after us, but the place looked like temporary storage. There wasn’t any furniture or belongings, or anything that would indicate someone alive was staying there.”

“Were the zombies slow, plodding?” Abraham’s eyes narrowed behind his glasses.

“They were faster than I would have liked,” I pointed out my wounded leg. “But I don’t recall them setting any land speed records.”

“Then Reven was probably not among them.”

I stared at Abe. He must have seen I had no clue what he was talking about.

“Were Reven nearby, his zombies would siphon more energy from their master, making them quicker, more lifelike. It is an innate part of the energy transfer, alluding to his presence.”

“Good to know. That being the case, he probably wasn’t there.” Neither seemed all that surprised. “There were, however, zombies missing,” I added.

Their eyes widened. “What do you mean by missing?”

“Somewhere in the neighborhood of two hundred bodies have disappeared from Rest Land in the last week, or so.” I kept the source of my information to myself. “I estimated there were around seventy in the hole. Now add in the ones I killed at the strip club and we’re only looking at about a hundred accounted for. Where are the rest of them?”

Abraham wrung his hands, the knuckles turning white. “We’ve had reports from other cemeteries that they, too, are missing bodies. All told, we’re looking at another two to three hundred.”

I whistled. “So we’ve got four hundred zombies, give or take, still running amok?” There was some major undead mischief afoot.

“Something in that range, yes.” Abraham nodded. “We need to find Reven and ascertain what he is up to.”

Captain Obvious to the rescue. I wondered if he needed a cape. “If bodies are missing from all sides of town, we need to get some eyes on the cemeteries, maybe even the morgue.”

“Already done,” Rahim told me. “Though I’m not sure it’ll do us any good. Reven would have to be pretty stupid to make it so easy, especially now that he knows someone is looking.”

Having spent five hundred years mingling with humanity, I couldn’t rule the possibility out. Magic didn’t make people smarter. “What about the mausoleum chamber?”

“We’ll send Katon to examine it. Maybe he can find a clue there.”

“And me?”

“Do what you do best, Frank.” Rahim smiled, his eyes teasing.

“There are laws against that now.”

Abraham sighed, choosing not to reply, and returned his attention to his computer. Rahim only chuckled. I got up, said my goodbyes, and headed out the door.

Rahim always said I stumbled my way through life, getting by on dumb luck and brass balls. The sad part was he was probably right. That being the case, I figured why fight it. Trouble would find me when it was good and ready.

Until it did, I was gonna have a beer.

Chapter Seven

A couple of beers and a sip of my uncle’s blood later, the night having crept past the witching hour, I wandered down to Fiesta Street. Relegated to the butt-end of Old Town, the street was home to the seediest, the most questionably legal, and by far the most immoral of night-life establishments to be found above ground. If you were looking for a good time that truly defined the word taboo, this was the place to be. I came here often.

Pun intended.

Just off the desert, like the majority of the fun parts of Old Town, this was as good a place as any to expect zombie trouble. While DRAC watched the cemeteries, I figured I’d try another angle. With Reven already claiming upwards of four hundred zombies, it didn’t make any sense to me that he’d bother to raise any more. Unless he was planning on taking over the world with an army of slow-moving corpses, he had to have enough for his plans, whatever they may be. Though it didn’t hurt to keep an eye out, I couldn’t picture him puttering around the graveyards waiting to be caught. That’s the first place anyone looks when they’re trying to find a necromancer. So, thinking along those lines, I decided to go fishing where the most appetizing bait could be found.

On any given night, Fiesta Street was ripe for the plucking. Scores of horny partiers wandered drunkenly, splitting their time and crumpled money between the raunchy bars, strip clubs, and porn stores. Always busy, yet saddled with a clientele as disposable as paper plates, the street might as well have had a target painted on it.

Dressed way down in a stained sweatshirt and ratty jeans, I weaved my way down the cracked and bulging sidewalk, my eyes taking it all in from under the shadows of my hood. After dodging an affectionate drunk and sloughing off an insistent panhandler who felt the world owed him something, I slipped into a dark alley beside one of the furthermost buildings. After checking to be sure I was alone, I shimmied up the wobbly fire escape, trying my best to ignore its tortured squeaks, which threatened to dump me on my ass, and made my way to the roof. Up top, I headed for the dilapidated stairwell hut.As I neared it, I spotted a dark shape lurking in the shadows. I drew my gun and let my senses loose. I wanted to know what I was up against. A second later I reined them in, shoving my gun back into its holster.

“What are you doing here, Veronica?”

The shape straightened and drifted out of the dark. My ex-wife’s impressive curves were defined even in the moonlit dimness.

“I’d ask you the same thing, but this being Fiesta Street I’m not so sure I really need an answer.” She grinned wide as she stepped toward me, her hands hovering near the blades at her hips.

“Ah, the irony of you implying I’m here for something illicit.” My eyes were focused on her chest, but not for the reasons you might assume. Though I will admit it was one hell of a view, I was more interested in the tension of her shoulders, the positioning of her feet. She was expecting a fight. I wasn’t here for that. “Relax, woman. As pissed off at you as I am, I’m not at the point of taking it out of your hide.”

Her eyes met mine. We’d known each other long enough, and been intimate beyond what’s legal in most states, that she had to realize I was being honest. After a few seconds, her hands dropped away from her weapons and her shoulders slumped.

“Don’t get the wrong idea, you and I aren’t all skippy-doodle, but I’m not looking to put a bullet in you. Stick to business and we’ll be cool.”

She stared at me hard for a few seconds, but I couldn’t read her expression. She’d gotten better at hiding her feelings. For that matter, she’d gotten better at everything since we’d divorced—that hurt a little. It’s like finding out a woman has gone lesbian right after you dated. It puts a serious dent in your ego, let me tell you.

I’d been surprised by how well she fought when we’d gotten into it during the Asmoday fiasco. Now with the blades at her hips, worn like they’d been there her whole life, I was certain she could handle herself. If she wielded them only half as well as she performed her other physical skills, she was beyond dangerous.

Her expression lightened, I guessed resigning herself to the fact I was gonna be difficult. She was right.

“Back to my question. What are you doing here?” I already knew the answer, but it didn’t hurt to be thorough. These days, you could never be sure who was looking to put a fork in you.

She drew in a deep breath and let it out slow, delaying her answer. There was more to her presence here than hunting zombies. “I wanted to see you.” It came out in a rush.

My pride stroked, my crotch stirring, I sighed. “I thought we were gonna keep this about business.” Stubbornness is one of my more refined character traits.

I thought I saw a pinch of sadness color her face, but it disappeared so fast I had to have imagined it. Her patented smile kicked in, wiping away all traces of anything except confidence.

“Fair enough.” She gestured to the street. “If ever there was a good place to kidnap people without making a fuss, this would be it. I thought if they showed up, I could follow the undead back to the necromancer who’s controlling them.”

“Sounds like a good plan.” I beamed, her presumption validating my own. What can I say? I’m easily pleased. “And by the way, the necro’s name is Reven.” It was clear she hadn’t known that. A grateful smile crept to her lips. I basked in its glow thinking we’d managed to slip past our rocky start. But as usual, I had to go and ruin it. “Plus it doesn’t hurt that the place is wall-to-wall sex either, huh?” I cringed inside, my words coming out bitter sounding.

She glared at me for a moment, then shook her head. “You’re the one that wanted this to be all business, so don’t go there.”

I nodded, the weight of my regret pressing down. It didn’t matter how much time passed or how deep Veronica wounded me, I was always gonna come back for more. We both knew it. No matter how hard I fought against it, she had wrapped me up in her web a long time ago, and there was no untangling myself. We were connected in a way that defied the sense or sanity of it all. I hadn’t been that wrapped up in a woman since I was a kid, and it sucked to admit it. My emotional freedom was a farce.

Sobered by that thought, I took my own advice and put my mind back on task. I’d worry about my heart later.

“Why don’t you just track Reven to wherever he’s hiding? He had to have left some kind of trail.”

She took a deep breath and let it out slow before answering, “Because necromancers aren’t like you or me. Their life force isn’t a positive energy I can lock on to. Empowered by death, corrupted even, their souls are like spiritual black holes. They’re a swirling mass of negativity. It’s as if they don’t exist with regards to magical detection.”

That wasn’t a comforting thought. I’d always relied on my senses, blunt as they are, to give me a heads up in tight spots. If Reven were invisible to them, I had lost an advantage. Not that that was anything new. I was always in over my head, but that didn’t mean I enjoyed it.

“What about his henchman?” I already knew the answer. Veronica’s presence here meant she couldn’t track him either.

She shook her head. “Same deal applies. He’s tainted by Reven’s association, the sharing of his art. If we’re going to find them, we’re going to have to do this the old fashioned way.”

“Stumbling blindly and getting lucky?”

Veronica suppressed a grin. “I didn’t say your way.” She turned away and went to the ledge of the building, leaning over to survey the street.

I hung back a few seconds and watched her. Of all the fantastic wonders in the world there are none as awe inspiring as a fit woman in a tight pair of jeans. The sight chased the chill from the air. After a moment of quiet reflection, I adjusted my appreciation and waddled over to join her.

The bright moonlight, enhanced by the dull flicker of the streetlights below, made it easy to see. Down on the street, people scrambled about, filing in and out of the various establishments, wandering from one gilded debauchery to another. If Veronica hadn’t been there, I’d have been jealous. I could use a little debauchery right about now.

Who couldn’t?

We sat there on the ledge for about an hour, settling in to a resigned silence. Afraid to stir things up, I kept my mouth shut. She must have felt the same way—that I’d say something stupid—so all I got out of her was the occasional weak smile before her eyes went back to watching the street.

Up above the chaotic meanderings, separated from the cloying scent of sweaty flesh and the drunken rumble of carnal appetite, I was bored. The beers I’d drunk earlier had run their course through my system, and down the wall of the stairwell hut, and I was starting to get tired.

There is nothing more brain-sapping than a stakeout. Sitting around, picking your nose while you wait for something, anything, to break the monotony. I could never have made it as a cop. I’m down with doughnuts and all, but patience and I haven’t spoken in ages.

Just as my eyelids started to flutter, I felt more than heard, Veronica hop to her feet. My eyes sprung open and followed the direction of her stare. It took me a few seconds to focus, but I finally spotted was she was looking at.

There in a shrouded alley just off the main thoroughfare, was a huddled mass of figures. Though I couldn’t see them clearly, I had a pretty good idea what they were. As my adrenaline battled away my tiredness, I heard the fluttering of their inane mutterings that drifted in the night air, discernible even over the white noise of the street. That clinched it. It was a zombie’s night out.

I leaned in toward Veronica, trying to ignore how good she smelled, and nodded toward the alley. “Our tour guides have arrived,” I whispered.

She put her finger to her lips and leaned back a little as the mass of undead started to move. I stayed where I was and watched as they poured out onto the street. It’s not like they were gonna look up. Everything they needed was right in front of them; a staggering buffet of plastered human flesh.

As if to prove my point, the drunken Fiesta Street patrons in the road and on the sidewalks made it easy. A few pointed at the corpses shambling toward them, their whiskey-soaked brains too addled to feel threatened. Most didn’t even notice.

That is until the first scream rang out. There’s nothing like the shrill screech of abject terror to clear those synapses. Frightened into action, the street exploded into chaos. Patrons ran every which way, but in the end, it did them no good.

From other alleys, those we couldn’t see from where we stood, more zombies emerged to head off the fleeing patrons. There must have been hundreds of them. A mottled mass of dead flesh wedged into the street, blocking it off in every direction. Zombies flooded into the buildings where more panicked screams burst out. The patrons caught out in the open were drowned in a sea of corpses. Broken necks and crushed larynx’s abounded.

Though far from resembling anything heroic, it was hard to sit there and do nothing. Before I even realized it, my gun was in my shaking grip, the safety thumbed off. Veronica set her warm hand on mine, pushing the weapon down while whispering saccharine words of patience. I put it away with reluctance, my eyes glued on the carnage below us.

No stranger to death, it’s not like I hadn’t seen it all before. I’ve survived wars, plagues, and even a nuclear explosion one time when I was vacationing in Japan, but it was never easy to watch people die when I had the means to do something about it. While I doubted I could save everyone, I only had so many bullets, I could have at least gotten some of them out. These people might not amount to much in the “real” world, but they were still living souls.

My fists clenched so tight they hurt, I moved away from the ledge so I didn’t have to see the massacre below. Veronica didn’t seem too bothered by it, but she didn’t have the connection to the human race like I did. She’d been born a succubus. To her, humans were a source of energy, a necessary means to an enjoyable end.

It wasn’t like that for me. I’d always been too human, too much like my mother. Compassionate and caring, she instilled in me a love of life that extended beyond my own, believe it or not. Four hundred-eighty plus years after her death, my moral compass well astray of those teachings, I still felt the gentle tug of her convictions now and again.

It would have killed her to see the man I’d become. Deep inside, I heard a heartstring twang and I paced around the stairwell hut until the screams below faded. Though it was only in memory, I couldn’t face my mother’s disapproving look.

“They’re on the move,” Veronica whispered.

My conscience girded by thoughts of revenge, a poor man’s substitute for responsibility, I made my way to the fire escape. Not waiting for Veronica, I slid down it and crept to the corner where I could watch the zombies’ retreat. She came up from behind, sneaking a quick peek around me.

Once the corpses left the street, their human luggage in hand, we followed, keeping a safe distance. To no surprise, they headed out into the dark desert. After about a half mile, the night clear and warm, a sudden windstorm sprung up out of nowhere. It took all of two seconds to realize it was magically created. The low lying gusts buffeted the dirt behind the zombies, kicking up a cloud of dust around us and scouring away all traces of the zombies’ passage.

Though it made it more difficult to follow the corpses, the dust storm also made it harder for them to spot us. It also meant we were getting closer to finding Reven. We closed the distance, hands over our noses and mouths to keep from inhaling too much dirt, and kept on their tail. The constant jabbering of the zombies was a steady guide.

After what seemed like forever, we were miles into the desert when the wind dropped off without warning. We had to scurry to not be seen. We took cover behind a small sand dune, hidden by the piled growth of brown shrubs and yellowed weeds.

Lying side by side, our eyes met and I could see the same excitement on Veronica’s face I was feeling. Hers was probably caused by the impending fight, though. Mine was thanks to the warm sand pressed comfortably against my crotch. After the nerve-rattling walk, it felt good.

The zombie horde came to a halt a little ways beyond our hiding place. A large clearing about the size of a football field stood out from the ragged desert landscape, its face cleared of vegetation. Shallow rectangular holes ran in crooked rows across its length, no doubt the resting place of Reven’s pets. I had to hand it to the guy. Unable to make use of the cemeteries in town he’d made his own out in the middle of nowhere. Classified as a minor player by Abraham, he was proving he was smart, if nothing else. I’d have to keep that in mind.

Tireless, the zombies carrying bodies formed a line, the furthest out parked near the end of the clearing. For some unknown reason they just stood there, waiting for something, as the rest of the non-toting horde crawled into their holes. Unfortunately, whatever order they were following that caused them to form up sure didn’t keep them quiet. Like a bunch of old, cantankerous hens, they clucked on and on, their babbling driving me nuts. If it hadn’t been for the arrival of a dark figure near the front of the line, I’d have snapped and started shooting.

I watched as the figure drew closer, but due to the distance there was little I could make out about it. Despite that, there was a sense of grace about it, as if it were gliding through the darkness. A flash of silver sparkled at its hips, drawing my eyes. I growled deep in my throat as I spotted the twin swords. They’d given him away.

This was the bastard McConnell and I had run into under the mausoleum. My hand crept to my gun, easing it out of the holster. Veronica tensed beside me reading my response. Her hands imitated mine as she drew her blades without making a sound.

Before I could do anything else, movement behind the masked assassin caught my attention. A huddled mass of zombies stumbled into the clearing, an aluminum tub held between them. Similar groups appeared behind them as the first moved alongside the line. I glanced over at Veronica. She shrugged, her eyes never leaving the drama unfolding in front of us. Unsure of what they were planning, I looked back as the zombies set the tub down onto the sand.

The assassin drew one of his swords in a quick, smooth movement. Goose bumps danced up my arms. I’d seen what he could do with that thing and I wasn’t looking forward to another demonstration. Fortunately, he didn’t know we were there. He made a gesture with his free hand and the lead zombie bent the corpse it carried over, its head and shoulders hanging above the tub. Right then I realized what they intended. They were draining the bodies.

The assassin leaned down and slid his blade across the neck of the corpse, its sharpness biting in deep. A burst of red spewed from the slit throat, spraying into the tub with a hiss. Once the body gave up its fluid, it was tossed aside. The next zombie advanced and the ritual was repeated. One after another the corpses were emptied and discarded.

We took advantage of the assassin’s distraction and crept closer, inching along the built up sand along the edge of the clearing. Once we’d gotten close enough to get a better look, yet still feel safe, we settled in again. I focused on the assassin as he methodically went about his bloody work. In between bodies, the lead zombie shambling out of the way as the one behind it moved up, he rested his hand on his hip, his wrist curving inward. Right then, my inner alarm went off.

I sharpened my focus and searched out the fine details I’d missed viewing the whole. His small wrist rested against a rounded hip, which led down to a shapely, well-built leg. That was defined by a pair of skin-tight black pants which were tucked into narrow black boots. I felt a little weird checking the guy out, but something wasn’t right about him. Either that or I was becoming a little too open-minded in my old age. I’m all for freedom of sexuality, a warm orifice is pretty much the same as any other given the circumstances, but it made me uncomfortable thinking about it.

Ignoring the voices in my head, which were questioning my manhood, I let my eyes scan upward to a slim waist that suddenly expanded disproportionately with the rest of the figure. I traced the lines to where lean muscular arms jutted out and realized that he was wearing some kind of protective vest that had distorted my perception.

Scratch that, not he; she.

The assassin was a woman.

I breathed a sigh of relief as I spied the twin bulges packed tight beneath the lightweight, armored vest. I sunk into the sand, telling my inner voices where they could go and the best way to get there. Veronica stared at me as I wiped away the cold sweat that had built up on my forehead. She raised an eyebrow. To answer, I pointed at the assassin and held my hands in front of my chest doing the universal sign for boobs. She rolled her eyes at me and went back to watching the drama. Apparently she already knew. Damn women’s intuition.

I looked back to the assassin with a new appreciation for her. Not only did she work McConnell over, she managed to make Kevlar look sexy. She continued along the line of bodies, draining each in turn in what seemed like an endless parade of flowing blood. The zombies carried off the tub once it was close to full.

At the start of the second tub, I caught a glimpse of something else making its way through the darkness. The movement was too fast to be a zombie. I nudged Veronica just as someone in a long black cloak emerged from the shadows near the assassin.

“We’re not alone, Karra,” the person beneath the cloak spoke boldly with no pretense of subterfuge, his voice like a frigid, northern storm. He raised his hand and pointed right at us.

The assassin spun, drawing her second blade in a blur of motion as she dashed toward us. Outed—my hiding place, not my sexuality—I popped up and leveled my gun. Veronica rose up as well, her blades readied. She moved off to the side a ways, putting distance between us to force Karra to choose a target.

I knew how fast she was, so I didn’t waste any time trying to be precise. I hit the trigger in rapid succession and hoped she couldn’t outrun a bullet.

She couldn’t apparently.

She could, however, block them. Like flies on a cold day, she batted the bullets out of the air with her swords, reflecting them off into the darkness with but a flick of her wrist. She never even stopped moving forward.

Impressed by the display, I realized too late I’d stopped firing until she was right on top of me. I shifted to get a better angle as she closed. Veronica flanked. Before I had a chance to fire again, the assassin had dropped low and slipped passed me, one of her swords slicing deep into the meat of my forearm.

A searing pain exploded down the length of my arm followed instantly by another in my hamstring, Karra’s backswing connecting before she moved away. Surprised by the unexpected pain of a magically forged sword, I froze. Veronica dodged around me to give chase. A waft of bitterness assailed my nose as I watched my gun tumble from my hand, my fingers going numb. I recognized the scent from when she’d dropped McConnell. There was something on her blades. I hurried and examined the wound.

Though it was shallow, it bubbled with a black tar that festered around its edges, the ooze mingling with my blood. However disgusting it may sound, that was a normal reaction to my being struck by a magical weapon. What wasn’t normal was the sudden weakness and numbness that spread out from the wounds like wildfire.

Under no control of mine, my right arm dropped to my side lifeless. I growled as a light went off in my head reminding me about my leg, which too had gone numb. I collapsed in a heap a second later, my leg unable to support my weight. Whatever nastiness the assassin had on her swords, it was fast acting and potent. The muscles in both my arm and leg refused to obey. Rigid and without life, they were useless.

I rolled my head around when I heard the clang of colliding swords and shouted, “Poison on the blades.”

Though Veronica didn’t bother to acknowledge my warning, I was sure she’d heard me. Her posture shifted noticeably as she and Karra crossed blades, her stance becoming more defensive. The aggressive wide swings she’d used at first had reverted to short, snapping strikes, her blades held closer to her body.

I watched the two go at it for a few seconds as they circled each other, a ballet of silver flashes in the moonlight. To me, it appeared as though Veronica was the better swordswoman, though not by much. It was enough, however, to give me hope.

Using my good arm, I dragged myself toward my pistol, which lay a few feet away in the sand. The poison had apparently spread as my hip and shoulder had become stiff as boards. It made it hard to move, but the sound of steel clanging on steel drove me on. Once I retrieved my weapon, I looked around real quick. I found it strange the zombies hadn’t joined in, having expected them to have swarmed all over us by then.

Spotting the cloaked man, who had to be the necromancer Reven, I realized why they hadn’t. They continued in their blood draining, a handful of zombies gathered around the tub tearing the throats from their victims to speed the process. Reven stared back at me through shimmering yellow eyes that peered out from beneath his hood. He must have had faith his assassin could handle us because he stood there calm, unconcerned. So far he’d been right.

Out of spite, I felt the need to shit on his assumption.

My gun in my left hand, I turned it on Reven. Equally functional shooting with my left or my right, my aim was spot on.

At least it would have been.

Reven must have seen me setting up because he was on the move and heading for the darkness before I could even squeeze the trigger. A wall of corpses shambled to get between us. Meant for the necromancer who was long gone, the bullet slammed into the chest of a zombie that’d moved into the way. The impact wobbled it and punched a hole in its torso, but did little else.

To the zombie that is. While it didn’t bring down Reven like I’d hoped, the sound of my gun going off had unintended consequences.

No doubt surprised I’d been able to go after her master, despite my injuries, the assassin broke off fighting with Veronica to come to Reven’s aid. Her loyalty cost her. Given the opening she needed, Veronica stepped inside and put her dagger to use. I heard Karra cry out as the blade gouged a deep, red groove across her hip, just below the protection of the vest. She stumbled, one of her swords tumbling free as she used her hand to keep from falling. Veronica closed to finish her off.

Once more Karra surprised me with how fast she was.

In one fluid motion, the assassin ducked under Veronica’s follow up swing and flopped to her back on the ground. As she hit, she whipped her arm upward, loosing a handful of dirt. The spray of small rocks and sand struck Veronica flush in the face, blinding her for just an instant. It was long enough.

Karra kicked and swept one of Veronica’s legs out from beneath her, forcing her to spin away to remain standing. The move opened up her back which the assassin took full advantage of. A quick flick of her remaining sword sunk the tip into my ex-wife’s spine. Veronica twitched violently for a second, then collapsed face first as the poison made its way through her nervous system.

I screamed and pulled the trigger at the same time, wanting nothing more than to put a hole through Karra’s head. But once more, she batted my bullets aside with ease while she rolled to a crouch, retrieving her other sword. Furious, I emptied the clip as she bounded toward me, weaving from side to side, her blades intercepting every bullet that came close. The chamber clicked hollow just as she moved to stand over me. The tip of a sword settled into the hollow of my throat. Her cold brown eyes stared out at me from behind her mask.

“I don’t want to kill you, but I will if you force my hand.” Her voice was soft and quiet, but with an off-setting warble to it. It sounded odd, like she was trying to disguise it.

Her voice the least of my worries, I growled, meeting her gaze. “Like you did her?” I motioned to Veronica who lay still in the dirt. “Or McConnell?”

“Once the paralysis runs its course, she’ll be fine. The wizard is another matter.” I caught a hint of venom as she mentioned McConnell. I could relate, but it still didn’t excuse her for what she’d done. Not that my opinion mattered much at this point. She had the upper hand and it held a sharp, pointy thing to my neck.

“Tell me what your boss is up to and maybe I can leave it be.” My brain scrambled to find a way out that got Baalth off my back and didn’t end with me being dead.

Dead is bad.

She shook her head. I wasn’t getting anything, not that I really expected to. “Just stay out of our way and maybe you’ll make it out alive.”

Doubtful. If it wasn’t her killing me it’d be Baalth for letting her get away. I sighed. As usual, I was neck deep in shit and going down fast.

She had to have seen the reluctance on my face, but she pulled her sword away regardless. “Let it go.”

She sheathed her swords, but remained there for a few seconds longer, just staring at me. Her eyes were indecipherable. At last, loosing a deep sigh, she headed back to where the zombies were, ordering them to assemble. Those in line fell out and ambled forward while the ones in the holes climbed up and joined the rest. Once gathered in a smelly, gibbering mass, they collected the filled tubs and the whole group headed out into the darkness of the desert, leaving behind the ruin of their drained victims.

Karra cast one last look back at me before joining them. Moments later they were gone, only the distant muttering of zombies and the howl of dusty winds were left to echo in the chill air. A few minutes after that, even the sound was gone.

I glanced at Veronica and saw her body twitch, her back rising gently as she breathed. Relieved she was alive I dug inside my pockets with my functional arm looking for Candy’s phone. After an aggravating struggle, trying to stick my left hand into the right-side pocket, I came up empty. I groaned, dropping back onto the sand as I remembered I’d left the phone at DRAC. It was sitting on Abraham’s desk.

The cavalry wasn’t coming.

With nothing left to do but wait, I rolled onto my side to keep an eye on Veronica. Face down with her ass slightly elevated by a mound of dirt, the paralysis holding her fast, my mind found its own way to pass the time.

I needed to get me some of that poison.

Chapter Eight

I stared off at the horizon as we walked, the sun climbing into the sky at a snail’s pace. A subtle, growing warmth challenged the chill while dawn arrived to chase away the gloom; the darkness that is.

Our personal gloom was dead set on sticking around. The feeling in my arm and leg had returned, at least enough so I could move a little. There was a lasting stiffness that pricked at my nerves as I got up. It was an uncomfortable pins and needles kind of feeling, but not horribly limiting.

Veronica’s function returned a good while later as we made our way back toward Old Town. I’d carried her for a while as the poison worked its way out of her nervous system, and until she regained movement in her legs.

Lucky for me, her mouth was the first to come unstuck. I had to listen to her rabid complaints the entire way. Trudging through the desert, wooden-legged and slow, it made for a long, unpleasant trip. It didn’t take me long to remember why I’d dropped her off in Hell all those years ago.

Beautiful on the outside, what spewed from the inside would make a sailor blush and a demon pray the rosary. She had a way with words, my Veronica. I kept my sanity by thinking of creative ways to shut her up. If I hadn’t been so afraid to lose a body part in the process, I’d have acted on a few of them.

At last, my ears burning, we kicked the dirt from our feet and stumbled onto the ruin of Fiesta Street. I never thought I’d be so glad to see this place during the day.

Veronica, at home in Old Town, suggested a place we could go to recuperate before heading back out after...

...we’ll just pretend she said Karra.

Not interested in having to answer to Baalth, I waved her on. One ass kicking in a day was more than enough for me. Still steaming, she stormed off without argument. I could hear her muttered curses for several minutes after she’d disappeared.

Just glad it wasn’t me she was pissed at, I wandered down the street to find a phone. For once that was easy. I went into one of the sex shops hit by the zombie raid the night before. Still unlocked and surprisingly un-looted, I headed for the counter, by way of the video racks.

What?

Testosterone is at its peak in the morning, I couldn’t help it.

Anyway, after my perusal, I gave a call to DRAC and waited, checking out the rest of the store. It wasn’t but a few minutes before I heard Abraham’s charming voice inside my head.

“Find anything, Frank?” He still sounded upbeat despite our being in the dark as to what Reven intended. Rachelle must be one hell of a lay.

There were a couple of things on the shelves that had caught my eye, but I knew that wasn’t what he meant. “Turns out our necro-buddy has his zombies kidnapping people so he can drain their blood. He made away with about three tubfuls last night.”

“Last night?” I could hear the surprise in his voice. “I hadn’t heard of any attacks.”

“Yeah. I ran into some of his pets out here in Old Town. Figuring you guys had the cemeteries covered, I went looking elsewhere. Come to find out, he’s got his own little graveyard out in the desert.”

Hole sweet hole.

Abraham paused a moment then piped back up, his voice agitated, “If he’s gathering blood in copious amounts, he’s looking to raise an army, or perhaps even a powerful soul of some sort. We need to figure out what he’s doing.” His concern wafted through the telepathic connection.

He hadn’t thought much of Reven’s power, deemed insignificant compared to what we’ve faced before, but it was clear the necromancer had big plans. We just needed to know what they were before they blew up in our faces. “Perhaps Baalth knows something.”

I whistled a few bars of Chopin’s Funeral March. “I don’t think so. He’s had me and Veronica out hunting zombies. If he knew anything, I’d have heard about it by now, seeing how I’m doing his grunt work. Besides, he seems a bit out of it. He’s got other problems right now and based on how he’s coping, Reven’s antics are probably the last thing on his angry little mind.”

“What kind of problems?”

“No idea, but they’ve got him chomping at the bit pretty hard. He’s on edge. And I do mean right on the edge. I know we’ve got enough to deal with already, but I don’t think it’d hurt to keep an eye on him. He’s wound tighter than Paula Abdul.”

Abraham sighed, his disappointment bleeding over. “With Rahim injured and stuck in the office, and Katon doing what he can to make up for both him and our members murdered by Asmoday, we’re falling behind in our intelligence. We need to resolve the Reven issue quickly so we can focus on Baalth. We can’t afford to have him lose control.”

The thought sent a chill rattling down my spine. Given Baalth’s newly acquired powers, any temper tantrum on his part could bring about serious destruction. It wasn’t something any of us wanted to experience. Even if he didn’t blow up and go on a rampage, he needed to stay on top of things.

Though not common knowledge, Baalth’s influence was what kept the majority of the supernatural drama on Earth to a bare minimum. Looking to create his own Hell, he didn’t take kindly to folks muscling in on his territory or spoiling his plans. Only the suicidally brave, or just the plain suicidal, crossed swords with Baalth. But given the opportunity, Baalth’s iron hand slipping, we’d be up to our neck in supernatural shit. Demons are the definition of opportunistic.

“I’ll see what I can do.” I’m sure I didn’t sound confident. I certainly wasn’t feeling confident. “Dig up what you can on all of the local dead baddies,” I told him as I thought back to my encounter in the desert. “Reven still has a gang of minions with him, so I don’t think he’s looking to make more zombies, but you never know. Maybe we should spread our watch out to the closest counties, keep an eye on their morgues and cemeteries.”

“I’m not sure we have the manpower to spare for all that.” He didn’t sound pleased, no doubt once again remembering the blow Asmoday had dealt DRAC. “I’ll let you know what I come up with.” He broke the connection, leaving me alone inside the shop.

At least I had porn to keep me company.

Grumbling, all the bad news dampening the excitement of free whack material, I headed out to get some coffee. I needed some caffeine to help motivate my sluggish brain.

Out on the street, I headed for downtown. Not much better than Old Town, it would at least be open and serving breakfast that wasn’t cooked in a spoon. I’d made it a few blocks when a long, black limousine rolled around the corner and headed my way. Way out of place, dark tinted windows obscuring the interior, my hackles were up. I made a show of pulling out my gun as the limo pulled up alongside me. Ready to go, I waited as the back window rolled down with a quiet whir.

“You won’t need your weapon, Triggaltheron,” a smooth, sensual female voice drifted out through the window.

If it hadn’t been so sexy sounding, I’d have ripped into her for daring to use my given name. I hated when people did that. The worst part was it meant she knew me, likely giving her the upper hand in whatever her purpose was here. I peered inside to see if I recognized her and whether she was half as attractive as her voice. The answer to both questions was yes.

There, sitting in the limo with casual confidence was Lilith; the Devil’s wife.

Well, not exactly wife.

Not fond of commitment, my uncle never made their relationship official, but it’s always been easier to call her his wife. The chick the Devil used to bang just doesn’t have the same ring to it. Though, technically, they’d split up a while back.

Their relationship had been open, in the most unconventional sense of the word, but she’d apparently become too attached to one of her side flings. She’d fallen in love. Satan, a wee bit on the jealous side—and deeply wounded by her betrayal—ended the fling, and the man’s life. After that, he sent Lilith on her way. It’d been a long time since I’d seen her last. She looked exactly the same as she had back then. That was a good thing.

Her long, black hair flowed like waves of water over her narrow, pale shoulders. From her flawless face, her sea green eyes appraised me, a hint of a smile creeping onto her full, red lips. Her low cut dress cut out the middle-man of my imagination, the rounded fullness of her breasts hidden from full view by nothing more than a slip of thin, satiny cloth. Her smile widened as she caught the direction of my lingering gaze. My pants tightened remembering all the times she’d teased me as a young man before my uncle sent her packing. Some things never change.

“Come inside,” she told me. I nearly did. “Can I offer you a ride? We can speak as we go.”

Like a kid being offered candy, I was gonna take that ride even if it meant getting molested. In fact, I insisted upon it.

The door swung open and Lilith slid sensually across the leather seat, making room. I put my gun away and took a second to admire the view of her shapely thighs, her dress ending dangerously close to her hips. With a little effort, my jeans way too tight to allow casual movement, I managed to slip inside the car. She gestured to the seat across from her and I dropped down with abandon, reckless and otherwise.

The driver, who I hadn’t seen get out of the car, closed the door behind me, then returned to his post. A few seconds later, we were pulling away, creeping down the Old Town streets.

“It’s been a long time, Triggaltheron.”

Distracted by trying to see past the shadows that hid the prize that lay just beyond the hem of her dress, it took me a second to answer.

“Uh, can you call me Frank?”

She gave a sour smile, small dimples forming in her cheeks. “Why? Do you not like your name? Your uncle gave it to you. You should be proud of it.”

I shook my head. “Those times are past.” A shadow crossed her face, wiping her smile away. “I’m just Frank now.”

She nodded, appearing disappointed. “Then Frank it is.”

She took a second to look me over. I crossed my legs and laid my hands in my lap as casually as I could. It’s not like she didn’t know how she affected me, having gone out of her way to tease me for decades, but I didn’t see any reason to make it obvious. She wanted something and I wanted to bargain from a position of strength. Sitting there with my hard-on out in the open, twitching against my jeans, didn’t exactly promote fair terms on my part.

Though I was enjoying the view, I needed to hurry things along. As the mother of all succubi, Lilith was not a woman you tempted fate with. Her powers of sexuality dwarfed even those of Veronica, who could get me to dance with little more than a gentle tug on my string...er, strings. I do have to admit though, the mother-daughter angle was forefront in my mind right then. It’s too bad they weren’t getting along these days.

“You said you wanted to talk. What about?” I got straight to it. I didn’t think my jeans could hold out for much longer.

Lilith’s face warmed. “You are so much like your uncle.” I didn’t think she meant it as a compliment and she didn’t bother to explain. “I’ve heard of your recent troubles with a necromancer. Reven, is it?” She asked as though she was unsure. We both knew she was.

“Where did you hear this?” Two could play the game.

“Here and there. I still have connections to the supernatural world, though I tend to avoid its drama as much as possible.” She cast out her bait.

Like a good fish, I bit. “Unless you have good reason not to?”

Her lips curved upward. “Or if someone I care for needs my help.” She leaned forward resting her hand on my thigh. Little shocks of electricity ran up my leg and exploded at my crotch. Her long nails, filed to sharp points, dug in gently. “I promised your uncle I’d look after you, keep you out of trouble.”

I knew she was lying, but the throb in my pants didn’t care. She had her reasons for showing up, and regardless of her motive, if she passed on something useful it was worth putting up with the act. If her flirting and rubbing up on me was gonna help take out Reven, I’d be more than glad to take one for the team. Two even, maybe even three. I’m generous like that.

I nodded. “Just what is it that has you so concerned?” I uncrossed my legs to let her think she was getting to me. I lied to myself, repeating it over and over in my head that she really wasn’t, while her hand slid a little further up my leg. I was gonna have to replace the zipper later.

She leaned in further, the gentle scent of strawberries and sweet red wine drifted to my nose. “Reven seeks power.”

Tell me something I didn’t already know.

She did. “He intends to raise the most powerful man to ever wear the mantle of the Anti-Christ, Maximus Artorius. This cannot happen.” She dropped back into the seat, her body limp.

Holy crap. “Longinus?”

She nodded, saying nothing, letting it all sink in.

Maximus Artorius, or Longinus as history remembers him, was the first to bear the title of Anti-Christ. Present at the crucifixion of Jesus, he pierced the side of Christ with his spear to confirm the Savior’s death, or so the historians would have you believe.

In truth Longinus was Hell-born. A demon whose fateful spear thrust empowered him with the earthly energies of Christ, returning the Son to God’s pasture. Crumpled to his knees in the midst of a soul transfer, proclaiming Christ truly to be the son of God, Longinus’s actions have been forever misrepresented by humanity. To them, he is a martyr, a saint, venerated for his acceptance of the existence of Christ, and thus God. To the supernatural world, he’s either a legend or a villain, depending on who you ask.I’d met Longinus only a few times, but my uncle spoke of him often, though never in what could be termed a good way. Despite his history, his service to Lucifer, my uncle never forgave him. It was he who Lilith chose to love.

He’d paid for that love with his life, shackled and buried beneath a gnawing mountain of dread fiends. Now, sitting in a limo some four hundred years later, the woman whose feelings unintentionally helped him into his grave campaigned to keep him there.

Something was very wrong with this picture.

Though Lucifer kept the affair quiet, both prideful and mindful of the damage such news could have on his rule, Lilith had to at least assume I knew about it. She’d known how close I was to my uncle, saw it firsthand. As such, none of this made any sense.

No idea where all this was going, I figured what the hell? I’d play along. “So, you want to stop Longinus from being resurrected?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

She shuffled about in the seat, her dress creeping up just a little further. While I can’t say I wasn’t interested in looking, it was too obvious a ploy to distract me. I kept my eyes on her face.

Mostly.

“You know what we had together?” She already knew the answer, but I nodded anyway, letting her set things up. “I never meant to hurt your uncle. Things just spiraled out of control, caught me off guard. I fell for Maximus and there was nothing I could do about it.”

She paused a moment, her eyes moistening. If I hadn’t known her daughter so well, known her kind, I’d have fallen for it.

“I still care for Maximus, but he’s been gone a long time. As much as it hurts to say it, he’s dead.” She drew in a sharp breath. “It won’t be him who the necromancer raises, but an empty, soulless creature whose will is tied to Reven, his powers at the necromancer’s beck and call.” Her white-knuckled fists clenched the hem of her dress, the Pearly Gates slipping into full view. “It’s bad enough they’ve stolen his body from its place in Limbo, but I will not have him tortured by being resurrected as a mindless slave. I will not let Reven torture me like this. He must be stopped.”

I thought about it for a second. Though I had doubts as to why Lilith would bring all this to me, her playing the selfish angle seemed to fit. It wasn’t so much about Longinus’s suffering as it was about how his return would affect her.

The worst part was, if what she was telling me was true then the world was in serious trouble. Killed by dread fiends and not by my uncle’s hand, Longinus would have retained the powers he’d stolen from Jesus, as well as any other souls he’d collected along the way. While not on par with Baalth—the earthly incarnation of Christ nothing compared to His true self in Heaven—it was still a whole hell of a lot of power in the hands of a guy whose passion, whose entire existence, was predicated on death.

In a few short weeks Reven managed to rack up something neighboring a hundred deaths. I could only imagine what the body count would be if he had Longinus under his control. Things were gonna get bad.

“Do you know where Reven is?”

She shook her head. “I’m unable to find him, his nature impossible to track.” I must have made a sour face because she waggled a finger at me. “I can, however, point you in the direction of his pet, the demon Karra.”

I hadn’t realized Karra was a demon, but it certainly explained a lot. What it didn’t explain though, was why Lilith was sending me off after Karra when she knew where she was and had sufficient power to go after her herself. I was starting to think people wanted me dead.

Baalth had done the same thing earlier. It definitely got my paranoia up and running. It was bad enough being a pawn—I’d accepted that—but I wasn’t looking to be sacrificed for someone’s endgame.

“Not to sound ungrateful for the information or anything, but why leave this to me when you can handle it yourself, or pass it on to Baalth to deal with?”

Her eyes dropped to her lap. “Baalth and I are not on the best of terms these days. Karra’s current location is deep inside Old Town and I dare not go there. It is one thing to skirt the edges, passing through, but it’s entirely something more dangerous to stroll into the heart of his territory. I would not survive such boldness.” She raised her eyes, meeting mine with a steely gaze. “I’d also rather not give him the pleasure of striking down Maximus—he always hated him. It would wound me to my core were he to possess Maximus’s soul.”

I could agree with that sentiment even if I didn’t trust her motives. The last thing we needed was Baalth inheriting Longinus’s magic. He already had far more than enough to screw the pooch in ways I didn’t want to think about.

I did anyway. Bad mind.

“Were it you who brought it all to an end, I believe I could accept that.” She smiled, leaning forward to rest her hands on my legs again. The game was still on. “I’ve grown fond of life since Lucifer’s departure and have no interest in the past returning from the grave to take all that away. I’d be in your debt if you were to handle this.”

Though she talked a good game, her words were hollow, pure manipulation. The only value in what she said was what I could make of it, reading between the lines as to her true motives. It was still better than nothing. “Tell me what you know.”

“My spies have tracked Karra to an abandoned mental institution in northern Old Town called Gailbraith Manor. I imagine you’ll find her there, amidst the memories of the tortured dead.”

Crazy and creepy. Nice. My kind of girl.

My mind flashed back on what I remembered about the asylum. Its basement was said to have been converted into a makeshift morgue when its administrators realized they could make more money harvesting the organs of their patients than caring for them. Caught in the act, the institute was shut down and condemned. Like everything else in Old Town, it had been forgotten, left to rot. It was a great hiding place.

“Is Longinus’s body there as well?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know for certain, though I believe not. My men were unable to get inside without giving themselves away. Capture Karra and she can lead you to him and her master as well.”

If only it were that easy. Karra was vicious with the skills to back it up. I wasn’t looking forward to scrapping with her again. Though somewhere deep inside my head, I couldn’t help think I might not need to. She’d been reluctant to kill me despite knowing I intended to keep coming after her. There was something there I couldn’t understand. Some factor in play I didn’t know about. It nagged at me.

“Anything else I need to know?”

Lilith shook her head.

Conveniently, the limo slowed right then, and drifted off to the side of the road. Just a few blocks from the business area of downtown, it came to a stop. The driver got out and moved around to open the door on my side, letting the bright light of morning in.

“Thank you, Frank.” She motioned toward the door. “I’ll be in touch should I learn anything that might be useful to you.”

Finished with me, she turned away, her eyes facing straight ahead. I climbed out of the car and the driver shut the door behind me with quiet efficiency. Without so much as a glance my way, he got back behind the wheel. Seconds later, they were gone.

Despite all the unknowns piling up in the equation, at least now I had some kind of direction to go in. That was more than I had an hour ago.

Since my coffee run had been interrupted, I headed off to remedy my need for caffeine and to put another call into DRAC to let them know about Longinus. I left out the source of my information, as usual, adding that it was all just speculation at that point, but I wanted to float the possibility. From there, I went home and fixed myself up, showered away the dried blood and nastiness, and took a long nap. After that, I figured I’d head down to the insane asylum.

I had a feeling I was gonna fit in just fine.

Chapter Nine

While not one of my brightest plans, I decided to pay my visit to Karra alone. Since she’d shown a dislike of Baalth, and a willingness to carve his people up like Thanksgiving Day turkeys, I decided not to bring any of them along. I thought about calling in Katon, but I wasn’t sure how she’d react to him.

Even if she didn’t have a predetermined reason to take a shot at him, he’s pretty intimidating. That wasn’t the mood I wanted to set for our meeting. I wasn’t really sure just what kind of a mood I was going for, my crotch having a few ideas of its own, but intimidating wasn’t it.

Down in Old Town again, I skirted around the edges, sticking to the less populated areas as I worked my way to the asylum. It’s not that I was hiding from Baalth, not exactly, but I really didn’t need his unstable ass popping in and making a mess of things. Just starting to get an idea of what was going on, I certainly didn’t need his help to screw things up. I could do that well enough alone.

As I neared Gailbraith Manor, aptly nicknamed the Gray Hell, a cold chill trickled down my spine. Six stories tall and painted in a single swath from foundation to roof in institutional gray, the building stood out from its crumbling neighbors. Tiny windows, little more than the size of a mail-slot, peered from the sides like murder-holes. A ten foot stone wall surrounded the small, barren yard but it had come down in several places. Jumbles of rock and crumbled mortar lay in dusty piles around the perimeter, some strewn into the road. I had a sense that people avoided the area, as even to this day the debris in the street remained untouched.

Not counted among the smart few to stay away, I drew my gun and slipped through a hole in the wall, then made my way across the yard to the front entrance. The wrought iron gate, which once protected the front doors from threats inside and out, lay bent and mangled. Only one hinge held it on. The doors beyond it were missing entirely.

Though I’m not really easy to spook, I had to admit I was having second thoughts. Here I was, walking alone into the hideout of a killer who’d shown she was more than capable of handling her business with ruthless efficiency. I wasn’t sure I could deal with her, let alone anyone else who might be lurking about. I’d come here on a hunch, thinking I had a shot at talking to Karra, at working something out. Now, as I stepped into the musky-aired foyer of the asylum, I wasn’t so sure. To be safe, I let my senses drift out, hoping they’d give me a heads up in case of trouble, though I wasn’t confident it’d help.

Too late to turn back, at least that’s what I kept telling myself, I continued forward. The foyer was nothing more than a reception area. Rusted metal gates running ceiling to floor, sat open, splitting the room in half. On my side was nothing but a small desk, left to the mercy of time. Passed the gates was an area little more than a twenty foot square.

Against the back wall were two sealed elevators, set side by side, and a door with a sign above it, claiming it led to the stairs. Taped with warning stickers and caution tape, the signal lights broken and dim, the elevators looked like sleeping giant eyes. Even if the power hadn’t been out, I’d have passed.

With a sweaty hand, I yanked open the stairwell door. An ear-splitting squeal shrieked from the hinges and echoed down the stairs. If Karra didn’t already know I was there, she certainly did then. I growled and leaned inside, my gun out in front of me. Expecting company to rush up to greet me, I waited a few minutes but didn’t hear anything. I thought that surprising.

Committed in my mind, trap or otherwise, I started down the stairs. Two levels later, my footfalls thudding over-loud on every step, I reached bottom. A closed, reinforced metal door with no window greeted me. Beside it, protruding from the wall were two loose wires I assumed once belonged to an intercom system; the speaker and control panel long since gone.

Trapped in the tiny stairwell, I felt exposed. If there was a trap to be sprung, I was in it asshole deep. Rather than wait and see my cynicism proven true, I grabbed the knob and gave it a twist. It spun easily and the door cracked open. A bitter scent crept to me from the hall beyond. Part antiseptic, part decay, it stung my nose and tickled my throat. While not quite the level of sniffing a rotting corpse, the smell was unpleasant.

Ignoring the smell, I stepped into the hallway noting the sudden chill. That wasn’t a good sign. With no power to the air conditioners, and the weather outside warm, there were only a couple of likely reasons for such an obvious drop in temperature; magic or spectral entities. I ruled out magic as my senses weren’t hitting on anything. That left ghosts.

I hate ghosts.

While most spectral entities were limited in power and influence, God’s disappearance impacted the in-between world as much as it had the rest. Trapped in limbo, usually by sheer force of will, souls which retained a weak connection to the mortal plain became what we call ghosts.

They can interact with reality in minor ways, moving a lamp, manifesting images and sounds, but are otherwise incapable of reaching out of Limbo. After time these souls would weaken, their focus and determination fading as existence dragged on, and they’d drift off to their rightful end.

With God gone, the boundaries between the worlds had thinned, their limits tested by the rampant magic use of battling angels and demons. To top it off, supernatural beings that once had their roles defined—angels to Heaven, demons to Hell, humans splitting the difference—have been able to circumvent the end. Upon death, no longer immortal in body, angels and demons have willed their spirits to continue to exist, escaping to Limbo to avoid destruction.

Once there, the industrious few have been able to take advantage of the tenuous boundaries and manipulate energy in the real world, generally causing havoc similar to most of the poltergeist stories you’ve heard. Even worse, there were some that broke through the barrier and returned as beings of pure energy: revenants.

Those were the scary ones, entities of magic and will with no physical shell to contain them.

Fortunately, it didn’t take a ghost of that level to set a chill in the air. Any average everyday spook, like those found fluttering about scandalous institutions like Gailbraith, could drop the temperature by ten degrees easily. I hoped that was all it was, as a revenant under the control of a necromancer would be a serious threat to my anal fortitude.

Aware I was spooking myself, I pushed my shivers away and continued down the hall. The first room, the door missing, the room in shambles, was empty. As was the second, third, and fourth, each in similar states of jumbled disarray. The fifth, however, located down a long, barren hall, looked promising. The door, while open, seemed maintained, its hinges still wet with oil.

I glanced inside, staying low and out of sight as much as I could. Rows of unpadded white benches, like stadium seating, were set on a decline. A line of stairs split them in half. At their end was a low wall with an aluminum frame, which looked as though it were intended to contain a window. The shards of shattered glass lying on the floor confirmed my thought, a sparkling line along the base of the wall. Beyond that was a second room, empty but brightly lit by four-pronged lights set high on mobile arms. A quiet hum vibrated the floor, no doubt from a generator powering the lights.

My brain kicked in, remembering what Lilith told me about the place. I realized then the room was a surgical theatre. I shuddered, wondering what kind of people sat on the benches watching as the doctors harvested the organs of their patients. Raised in Hell, I’d seen a lot of things people would call cruel, but regardless of the stories you’ve been told about demons and devils, humanity is by far the most vicious and brutal, the most uncaring, of all of God’s creations.

Too sensitive to the plight of humans unable to defend themselves, my own mother murdered without being given a chance, I had a weak stomach for the things that happened in places like this. I narrowed my focus, to avoid taking in too much, and made my way down the concrete steps. At the wall, I hopped over and dropped the ten feet into the room. Tiny shards of glass crunched beneath my feet.

On the floor, out of sight from the room above, there were two plain backpacks stacked in a corner, just left of a closed, windowed door. I crept to the packs, staying clear of the window, and examined the bags. Uncertain of what I’d find in them, I was sure it’d be something nasty, something I didn’t want to see.

I was wrong.

Packed neatly inside the bags were a few cans of food, an overnight kit, and a small variety of women’s clothing and undergarments. If the lights weren’t confirmation that Karra was here, the clothes were. They carried her scent. Not that I was sniffing them or anything.

You can’t prove it.

Certain of her presence, I resisted the urge to pocket her panties—or do anything else with them—and went to the door. It swung open to reveal another wide hallway. The sides were cluttered with hospital beds, soiled sheets still draped over them. There was a set of closed doors at the end of the hall. While there were no lights, the bright glimmer of those from the operating room filtered through the window of the door I’d closed behind me. My vision degrees better than that of a normal human, I could see without any problem.

On guard, I walked toward the double doors, my eyes darting all over the place. It was my nose, however, which picked her up first. Just as the subtle fragrance of her tripped the warning bells in my head, she was on me. I spun, willing my voice to call out her name, but she struck me before the word formed.

A thin red gash appeared, trailing a line across the back of my gun hand and down the length of my forearm. The searing agony of the magical blade hit me first, followed almost immediately by the cold, rigid numbness of the poison.

Out of instinct, all thoughts of why I was there banished from my mind, I tried to shift the gun to my other hand. A second, silvery slash of Karra’s blade across my left bicep ended my attempt. My pistol tumbled to the ground as my hand lost all function, the other arm fading fast. Armless in an instant, she’d taken away any chance at effective offense, so like a rabbit on race day, I bolted.

My foot hadn’t even landed from the first step when a slash horizontally across the backs of both of my legs cut my run short. Snarling, I went down in a heap, face first. Pain welled up in a geyser, then eased almost as fast. I flopped around like an upended turtle. A strong hand latched onto my shoulder and rolled me over. I looked up to see Karra’s masked face. Even with her features covered, she didn’t look happy to see me.

“We need to stop meeting like this.” My mother always told me I could charm the stink from a skunk. It was a long time before I learned she hadn’t meant it as a compliment.

Karra let loose a long, drawn out sigh, her eyes swirling red around the brown.

“I thought I told you to stay away.” Though anger hardened her words, she spoke quietly, melodiously. Unlike when we’d spoken earlier, she did nothing to mask her natural speech pattern. While I couldn’t place it, there was something familiar about her voice.

I stared at her, trying to discern the features behind the mask, having no success. “I can’t. You have to know that.”

She growled. Despite the circumstances, I had to admit, it turned me on. She knelt beside me, the point of her sword coming to rest sharp on my chest. That cooled things off a little bit.

“If you won’t leave off willingly, I’ll have to take matters into my own hands.”

An ugly, cold feeling settled over me. I’d come there thinking whatever had kept her from taking my life the first two times we’d crossed paths would still be in effect. The ice in her voice told me I had presumed too much.“If you’re so set on killing me, why didn’t you do it the last time, or the time before that?” Sometimes you just have to dig. It doesn’t hurt to throw a compliment in either. “You’re certainly capable of it.”

She stared at me for a minute, her breathing slow and calm. “Contrary to what you may believe, I—” she corrected herself, “—Reven, is not your enemy.”

“Yeah, nothing says good guy like a horde of zombies kidnapping and murdering people.”

She sighed and dropped onto her ass, her sword still poised. “I didn’t say he was a saint, I just said he isn’t your enemy. You don’t need to be involved.”

The familiarity of her voice grated on me. “Tell me who you are and what your boss is doing here so I can determine that for myself.”

She shook her head. “I can’t. You just need to accept my word that despite how bad things look, what Reven is doing is the far lesser of two evils. A few more days without interruption, maybe less, and we’re gone.”

Considering my delicate situation, I didn’t want to piss her off, but I couldn’t let her master continue killing people whether she was telling the truth or not. “Baalth isn’t gonna let it be that easy. He has people out looking for you and when they find you, it won’t be his minions that come kicking down your door.”

“His minions like you?”

Ouch. “I’m just working off a contract, I’m not the help. My lease is up once you’re out of the picture, permanently or otherwise.”

“Then let us do what we need to.” I thought I heard a hint of desperation in her voice.

“Look, Karra. I’m not the one calling the shots. I’m just a grunt. You’ve got Baalth with a mad-on for you and my bosses are all over it. They don’t take kindly to people pillaging the locals. Neither do I.” Her eyes reflected a sparkle of compassion, but there was still a strong sense of determination in there as well. “To top all that off, you’ve got at least one more major player looking into your business.”

She tensed. “Who?”

I shook my head, the only part of me unaffected by the poison. “A boy has to have his secrets.”

She hopped to her feet in a huff, the tip of her sword drawing a tiny dot of blood. She stepped away and started to pace. “You always were infuriating,” she muttered.

Shit. Though it was obvious we knew each other somehow, I couldn’t for the life of me figure out who she was. Worse still, she was a woman.

Given my history with women, not counting any of the numerous pay-for-play situations, the odds of my making it out of my current situation alive just dropped dramatically. To include my mother, there wasn’t a woman in my life who hadn’t wanted me dead at one point or another.

“Who are you, Karra?” Might as well find out just how bad things were gonna be.

She stopped her pacing and stared at me for a moment. “That’s not important, Triggaltheron.”

My heart skipped a beat. She’d used my given name which meant we’d probably known each other in Hell. That wasn’t a good sign either. As difficult as I am to get along with now, I was far worse when my uncle was still around. My life flashed before my eyes as I realized I was doomed. In brilliant colors, everything that ever meant anything to me ran across the screen of my mind.

Not surprisingly, all I saw were boobs.

Life had been good.

Paralyzed and all-around fucked, I didn’t see any reason to prolong things. “So, what now?”

“I should kill you,” she answered without hesitation, glaring down at me, her fingers tightening on the pommel of her sword.

Right then I knew I had a chance. I kept my mouth shut to avoid screwing things up. If ever there was an advocate who could talk me out of trouble, my mouth wasn’t it.

“But I’m not gonna.” I sighed as she sheathed her weapon. “I do, however, need to make sure you can’t interfere again.”

Oh crap.

She put her fingers to her covered lips and blew, belting out a sharp, piercing whistle, only slightly muffled by the mask. Unable to cover my ears, I winced, hoping my hearing wasn’t permanently damaged. She had a hell of set of lungs, let me tell you. I’m sure the set of size “C” amplifiers she had on her chest helped. Now that was a stereo system I wouldn’t mind wrapping around my ears.

Before the echoes of her whistle died down, a handful of zombies stumbled through the double doors and made their way over to us. I wasn’t sure what she had in mind, but I didn’t like the looks of it.

“Hey now, I’m all about exploring my wild side but I have to draw the line somewhere.”

Karra ignored me and gestured to the zombies. They bent down and grabbed ahold of my limbs. As they lifted me up, I wasn’t sure what to be more offended by: the fluttering reek that assailed my nose, or the constant barrage of profanity and incessant randomness that spewed from their dead mouths.

After a few seconds, the gibbering pulled ahead in the poll.

“Where are you taking me?”

Once more, Karra chose not to answer while the zombies carried me down the hall and out through the double doors. Along for the jostling ride, almost grateful I couldn’t feel anything, there was nothing to do but wait and see.

Picturing all the grim possibilities, I just hoped Karra’s imagination was nowhere as vivid as mine.

* * * *

A half hour after having been dumped into the back of a moving van, crowded with zombie funk, and carted across town, I was yanked out and unceremoniously dropped on my ass. It took a second for my eyes to adjust to the starlit darkness, night having settled in, but I could smell wet grass and fresh dirt. I rolled my head to the side, eyes searching, and groaned when I realized where they’d taken me; Rest Land Cemetery.

I didn’t like where this was headed. When I spotted the open hole in the ground a few feet from where I laid, I liked it even less.

“You don’t need to do this, Karra.”

She knelt beside me. “Yes, I do. You’re too stubborn to leave well enough alone.”

So what if she was right?

While the poison had just begun to burn off, my legs and arms tingling like they’d been laid in a pile of ants, I still couldn’t really move much. I thrashed around trying to get the feeling back, but it was useless. My limbs were rocks attached to my torso, swinging stiffly, out of my control. That didn’t stop me from fighting when two of her zombies grabbed me and dragged me toward the hole.

Actually, it pretty much did.

Belting out a scream, which would make Jamie Lee Curtis green with envy, they held me at the edge of the grave. Inside was an open concrete liner that looked anything but inviting. The remaining zombies, carrying the lid to the liner, trundled over and stopped beside the hole.

“Be good, Frankie,” Karra told me, frustrating amusement in her voice. She smiled through the mask and tossed my gun into the hole. It landed with an ominous thud.

“Don’t do this!”

She shook her head and motioned to the corpses holding me. She’d already made up her mind. There’d be no talking my way out.

Stiff in ways I could never imagine fun, the zombies lifted me in the air above them. Face down over the hole, staring into it with dread, they tossed me in. With the maw of the grave filling my vision, I mustered every ounce of my strength and forced my arm back. Screaming like a banshee, I felt the vague, disconnected bump of my hand connecting against something. I willed my fingers to close, and though I’m not certain they did, I felt a sharp tug which strained my shoulder.

There was a loud snap and I was yanked sideways just before I slammed into the concrete floor of the liner. I hit hard, my breath forced from my lungs. A split second later, there was a solid thump against my side as something tumbled into the grave with me.

I didn’t have time to wonder about it as I saw the liner lid moving across the hole, its bulk blotting out the stars. Brave man that I am, it took me all of about zero seconds before I started to beg, cry, and plead, all spewing free in one big, wet outburst.

It did me no good.

The lid dropped, settling onto the liner with a puff of dust. Concrete ground against concrete as it settled into place, sealing me in. Seconds later, the muffled sound of dirt being shoveled into the grave started. Thump after dull thump, it rained down on the lid, becoming quieter as the dirt piled up. The liner creaked ominously under the building weight. Unable to move, all I could do was listen to the fading sounds above and the pounding beats of my frantic heart.

I was trapped, buried alive.

I don’t care how badass you think you are, how much you can bench press, or how big your dick is, all that gets tossed out the window the instant the first shovelful of dirt lands over your head. Courage and machismo mean shit when there’s two thousand pounds of earth between you and breathable air. Alone, excised from the light as hope withers on the vine, terror sets in.

Barely able to manage the slightest of movements, enclosed in a three-by-eight steel reinforced, concrete box, the darkness swallowed me whole. Blacker than the deepest obsidian, I could see nothing. Not the lid of the liner, not the nose on my face; nothing.

Deprived of sight and the sounds of the world above, my fear turned inward. Crowded as it was in my head already, it wasn’t a welcome addition. Overcome, I thrashed about knowing it would do me good, but I couldn’t help myself.

Terror knows no reason.

My movement still restricted by the poison in my system, I rocked back and forth, bouncing from wall to wall, squirming inside my tiny prison. After a few moments, my skull finding the head of the liner with a solid thump, I felt something cold pressed against my temple.

It took all my will to battle back my unrepentant shivers and twitches so I could take a second to examine what I’d found. Breathing heavy, my heart still slamming into my ribcage, I gathered myself. Unable to use my hands, I pressed my head against the object. It was small and hard and apparently attached to the concrete wall of the liner.

The skin of my head not sensitive enough to determine what it was, I craned my neck to the side and stuck my tongue out. After a few seconds of fishing around to find the object, the sour taste of old plastic, and a small hint of glue, filled my mouth as my tongue struck home. Fighting back a gag, I let my tongue run loose.

The object was little more than a few inches around, and circular, extending about six inches from the wall. Out of reflex, thinking about the dimensions, I pulled my tongue back in disgust.

Whatever the thing was, it owed me dinner.

Putting aside the question of my manhood, I returned to the examination. When my tongue slipped inside a narrow cavity in the object, nearly getting stuck, my brain engaged.

It was a pipe.

My thoughts started to whirl with excitement. I bumped my nose on the cylinder as I leaned into it in a rush, trying to get as close as I could. With my nose pressed up against it, I sniffed hard. A very faint odor of moist grass crept to my nose. It was the greatest scent I’d ever smelled. Driven by the desire to live, I wrapped my mouth around the pipe—keep your comments to yourself—and sucked hard.

The chilly night air filled my lungs.

I sighed and pulled away from the pipe, relief washing over me. Once again, Karra had been given an opportunity to kill me and she’d passed on it. Regardless of who she was, whatever her relationship to me, she was burrowing past my cynicism and making me think maybe she wasn’t one of the bad guys. That probably meant Reven wasn’t either.

My head hurt just thinking about it.

With my adrenaline taking a dive, my heart rate slowing, I tried my best to get comfortable. No longer worried about suffocating to death, I could wait out the poison, then see what I could do to get out. Hope had returned, springing eternal.

Once the fear passed, I drew in a deep breath and settled in. At least down here, I was pretty safe. I didn’t have to worry about getting caught up in the middle of the pissing match between Baalth, Lilith, and Reven. All things considered, I had it pretty good squirreled away underground, alone in my grave.

“Poodle-juice!”

Or not.

I shrieked when the raspy, guttural voice shouted beside me. The sound echoed through the box as I exploded into squirms again, my crotch warming as my body found a creative way to express its fear. My eyes scanned the inky darkness, but it was like peering through steel; no one would ever mistake me for Superman. My heartbeat ramped up as my mind was a flurry of questions, wondering how anyone could have gotten into the liner with me.

“Who’s there?” I squeaked, my voice easily three octaves higher than usual.

“Fiddle-dee-deeeeeeeeeeee,” the darkness answered, its words moist.

I wiggled into the corner as far as I could to put as much distance between my uninvited guest and my paralyzed ass as possible. My senses fluttered out. Though I didn’t feel the chilling cold which came with the presence of a ghost, I wanted to know what I was dealing with. It only took a second to find out.

Loosing a growl, I withdrew my senses and relaxed. “Stupid zombie.”

“Zom-b-e-e-e-e-e-e-,” it repeated.

I thought back to when I’d been dumped inside the liner and realized I’d managed to grab a hold of something as I fell. That was what landed on me; the zombie’s head. I’d torn it off.

Lucky me.

“I hope you’re happy I pissed myself,” I grumbled as I squirmed from the corner with a wet squish, wedging my stiff leg against the head to keep it from moving, and from biting me.

“Pomegranates!”

The smell of urine wafted about the box and I was glad I had a vent hole. I was also glad I’d only pissed. I’d had burritos for lunch.

Thank Starbucks for small favors.

“Whaaaazzzzup? Whaaaazzzzup?”

As I listened to the zombie’s random insanity, I knew I was in for a long night.

“Bud-wei-ser.”

At least he was singing my song.

Chapter Ten

At first, I’d thought about squeezing the snot out of my chatty roommate, but by the time I could move again, we’d come to a casual impasse. Besides, once I’d gotten to know him, he was pretty fun to be around. We even had the same taste in music.

He actually liked Death Metal.

How ironic is that?

Since I couldn’t get anything coherent out of him concerning Karra or Reven, we’d spent the majority of the night singing our way through the classics until I’d felt strong enough to get to work.

Not given a lot of options, I had to figure out how to move a ton of dirt without it crashing down on top of us. After a little while of banging my skull on the wall, I had an idea.

As the air pipe was by my head, and going straight up guaranteed my new buddy and I would be crushed, I decided to renovate the wall at my feet. Limited in space, it took me two hours to kick the concrete wall into pieces, the rebar reinforcement holding it together. It didn’t help my legs had deep, leaking gashes in them from Karra’s sword. They still felt a little weak, but I managed to get it done.

While some dirt spilled in through the hole I made, the moistness of the new ground held it mostly in place. I breathed a sigh of relief and moved on to the next part of the escape plan.

Contrary to the laws of physics, I bent myself into positions that would have made a Siamese cat jealous, and reversed my direction inside the liner. Once again I was glad I hadn’t shit myself, my nose way too close to my ass as I shifted; although it did give me ideas for later.

Don’t act like it’s above you.

Once facing the damaged wall, I pulled the concrete pieces loose from the rebar and tossed them behind me, making sure I didn’t damage or block the pipe. More dirt trickled in and I moved it to the side or pushed it under me to get it out of the way, dirt grinding into my wounds. Finished with that, I pulled the loose rebar webbing toward me, wedging it up against the wall so it wasn’t blocking the hole any longer. It moved aside with a grating screech. That done, I’d come to the fun part.

Fortunately, I’d learned the process of burying a body from Carlos and Javier so I knew what to expect above me. It also helped that Karra had the zombies dump the dirt into the hole by hand so, whether she’d intended to or not, she’d made my escape easier.

You see, when a cemetery worker buries someone, they usually use a backhoe, or another machine, to tamp the dirt down afterward, adding more until the grave is level with the surrounding ground. That packs the dirt and makes it so the grave doesn’t collapse once weather and gravity starts wearing on it.

So, without the tamping, pockets of air form, leaving open spaces. Since the zombies just pushed dirt over the liner, the weight nowhere near what a backhoe would shovel in each time, there would be a lot more pockets meaning there was a lot less dirt sitting over me.

Taking advantage of that, I dug at the dirt just outside the hole I’d made and shoveled it in underneath me and behind, always mindful of the air hole. I had Chatterbox—my pet zombie head—bite down on my shirt, near my shoulders so he could ride out with me, but I wouldn’t have to worry about him being buried. After he was situated, I tucked my gun into the back of my waistband and made my move.

Handful after handful, loose dirt running down into the liner, I moved the soft soil beneath me, raising me up toward the lid of the liner while the space in front and above opened up. Inch by inch I crawled forward as more room opened up, filling the space under me.

Another fortunate thing in my favor was Rest Land’s standing policy of sticking to the letter of the law and not going one iota further. By local health regulations, the lid of the liner only had to be eighteen inches from the surface. And since Karra had dumped me in a hole that had already been dug, intended for another funeral, I wasn’t anywhere near the mythical six feet depth.

By the time the liner was nearly full, the way above me was almost clear, gravity helping to siphon the dirt downward. The last foot was the worst as the airway behind me had been blocked off while the way ahead had yet to be cleared. I held my breath and tore at the dirt as the remainder caved in on me, its weight threatening to drag me down with it.

Throwing everything I had into it, my arms burst free of the sinkhole, latching on to the solid ground to the side of the grave. Leveraged, I pulled myself up and out, spitting out a mouthful of dirt. Once I could breathe, I drew in a deep gulp and collapsed on the soft, wet grass, reveling in the sun’s warmth. Chatterbox let go and rolled across my back to land beside me, careening into my armpit.

“Boots…oots…ssss,” he muttered.

I raised my head to see what he was rambling on about and spotted a pair of dirty work boots coming towards me. Following them up, I saw a pair of dirty work pants, a dirty work shirt, ending my visual climb at a dirty face.

“Hi Javier. Como Estas?” The grubby cemetery worker stared at me through wide eyes, his face ashen where the grime was lighter. Carlos stood about twenty feet behind him, crouched down and peeking out from behind a raised headstone.

“What the fuck, esse? You nearly gave us both heart attacks.” He gestured to his partner with a shaky hand. “We heard spooky voices, then you come popping up out the ground.”

He shook his head, little puffs of dirt billowing around him like a brown halo. Sad thing was I probably had less on me than he did. There’s no doubt I smelled better.

“We thought you were another one of the stiffs. We had like fifty disappear last night.” A hint of anger crept into his fearful appearance. “I thought you were handling this shit.”

Damn. Karra apparently had more reasons for being at the cemetery than just dropping me off. That didn’t bode well. It meant there’d be another zombie party popping up sometime soon.

“Sorry. I got sidetracked.” I ran through the warehouse full of sarcastic responses inside my head, but decided to just leave it alone.

“So you came out here to talk to yourself and play in the dirt? We knew you were crazy, vato, but we didn’t know you were this crazy.”I sat up, shaking the dirt off. “Oh, I wasn’t talking to myself.” I picked up Chatterbox and held him up. “I was talking to my buddy.”

“Hi…I…I…eeeeeeeeee.”

Javier froze, his body stiffening up, his eyes widening so much I thought they were gonna roll out of the sockets. His face went pale and he fell back unconscious, kicking up a cloud of unfriendly smelling dust when he landed.

Carlos ducked down behind his protective gravestone. I saw one eye and a fluff of black hair peeking out from the side. You’d figure guys who dug graves for a living would be used to seeing pieces of corpses. Though I’d imagine the ones they saw didn’t talk.

“I think he might be one of yours,” I told Carlos as I turned Chatterbox around, letting him see the park. He did his best to nod.

Carlos didn’t move. He didn’t even blink.

“He’s cool.” Carlos didn’t look convinced. Figuring low-key was the best way to go about things, I turned to the head. “Let me set you down for a minute while I deal with these guys. Your sexy ways are making them nervous.”

Chatterbox giggled as I carried him over to the nearest stand of trees and set him down. I angled him to give him the most interesting view possible, then went over to Carlos.

“There, he’s gone. It’s all good.” My hands were raised as I stood in the direct line of sight so he couldn’t see Chatterbox.

Carlos stood slowly, his whole body shaking, his forehead moist with sweat. He was seriously freaked out. Despite him and Javier knowing some small measure of the supernatural world that exists beyond theirs, they never had to deal with it face-to-face. Their information had always come through me and I imagine they took a lot of it with a grain of salt. Guess that wouldn’t be the case anymore.

“I’m gonna give you some time to work things out, okay?” I wiped at his chin. “You got a little something, dripping…” Anyway, yeah, moving on. “I need a phone. You got one on you?”

Carlos nodded, his twitching hand gesturing to the general vicinity of his front shirt pocket. Taking that as an invite, I dug in and pulled his cell phone out.

“Thanks.” I popped it open and dialed the number for DRAC. While the phone rang, I stepped away so Carlos couldn’t hear and passed on my message and location once the line picked up. Finished, not concerned with Carlos having the dummy DRAC number, I didn’t bother to clear the phone before dropping it back into his pocket. He couldn’t do anything with it, all of our conversations carried on in a complex code of misdirection.

“Thanks.”

He nodded, or did something that somewhat resembled nodding. Whatever it was, there was a lot of moisture involved.

“I’ve got some friends coming to check things out, so unless you’re looking to have your memory tampered with, I’d suggest you pack up Javier and beat feet for a little while.”

He started forward slowly, but once his mind kicked in he hurried over to Javier. I helped him pick his buddy up and got his still unconscious butt onto the quad-runner they used. As soon as he was situated, Carlos lit off, the sputtering engine being worked hard.

Once they were out of sight, I retrieved Chatterbox and found a shady place to wait. Bored, I broke into a rousing rendition of Bolt Thrower’s, “No Guts, No Glory” while Chatterbox grunted out the rhythm line.

I was a little disappointed with his accompaniment. I’d have thought a dead guy would have a better death metal voice.

Chapter Eleven

About twenty minutes after I’d called, Katon showed up with Michael Li, the head of DRAC’s cleanup division. A powerful telepath with an analytical mind, Michael had the raw power to read minds and the wit to make sense of it all.

I hoped he could help.

“Morning.”

Katon looked me over, eyeing my dirty and disheveled appearance, the zombie head cradled in my arms. He wrinkled his nose when he got a whiff of me. “Do I even want to ask?”

I shrugged. “Probably not.” Can’t say I was all that excited to explain how I’d pissed on myself. Some things should just stay private. “I followed a lead and got shanghaied and put in time out. Though the lead didn’t do anything but add to the general confusion, I did manage to procure us a possible informant.” I held up Chatterbox.

Through glassy, squirming eyes, the head stared at them, his focus lighting upon Katon. “Haaaaiilll…aaaa…lll.”

Michael took a step back. However used to the weird world he inhabited, there’s apparently no way to be human and take a talking severed head in stride. Katon, on the other hand, had no problem with it.

“I see your taste in dates has gotten better.”

“You’re just jealous.”

He chuckled, peering at Chatterbox. “I assume this is why you had me bring Michael along.”

“Yup. He wasn’t interested in ratting out Reven, but he does do an amazing a capella version of “Run to the Hills.” I figured Mike might have better luck getting something of substance from him.” After talking to Karra, I wasn’t certain Reven was who I should be looking for, but I didn’t have any way to contact Lilith and I sure as Hell wasn’t gonna go anywhere near Baalth, if I could help it. Chatterbox was all we had. Hopefully Karra’s patience with me lasted a little longer.

Shaking off his jitters, Michael made a sour face and examined Chatterbox, staying at a distance. He shook his head slowly. “I’m not sure I’ll get much, if I get anything at all. Even though he’s been reanimated, his mind is still dead. This could prevent me from forming a link, or it could distort any of the thoughts I manage to pick up. There’s no telling what I’ll find.”

“While I’m not sure how long he’s been dead, though I’m guessing a while based on stench alone, he’s clearly pretty functional. He quoted a ton of song lyrics, even ones I’d forgotten, and he seemed pretty connected to the living world, however irrationally.” I turned Chatterbox toward Michael. “Give it a shot.”

Katon encouraged him. “It can’t be any worse than digging around inside Frank’s head.”

I shrugged, not arguing with the statement.

Michael nodded as he dropped down, his legs crossed beneath him. “I guess it can’t hurt anything to try.”

He looked up at Chatterbox, his lips quivering, and took a deep breath, letting it out slow. He closed his eyes and sat there regulating his breathing for a few minutes before his eyelids popped open. His eyes, normally a shade of dark brown, had become glistening silver, which flowed in dizzying circles like loose mercury. He stared at Chatterbox as though he was looking through him, his lips moving soundlessly.

Michael’s face lined with concentration. His cheeks looked sunken and his hands fidgeted at his lap. For several long moments, he muttered to himself and stared forward, his eyes twitching in their sockets. His body sat rigid, his veins pulsing against his skin.

“Commmmppaaaaaannneeeeee…aaaaaa…neeeeee,” Chatterbox muttered, his own eyes rolling back to look inside his head.

At last, the shimmer faded and Michael blinked twice, looking up at us through his natural browns.

“Wow. I’m not sure what kind of damage dying had on your boy’s sanity, but reading his mind is like looking through a shattered carnival mirror. He’s got some serious issues.”

And The Understatement of the Year award goes to…

“Ya think? I doubt the least of which is the fact I’m holding his talking head, sans body. Just tell me what you saw.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Not much, actually. It looks like his long term memory is surprisingly functional, but his short term is a chaotic blur, everything short-circuited.”

“Anything useful in there?” Katon asked.

Michael shrugged. “I don’t understand any of it, but you might. Forefront in his thoughts is an image of a sarcophagus. It’s an old one, carved out of a dark stone and covered in indistinct runes and symbols. It looked like it was surrounded by a sea of blood.”

I turned to look at Katon. He didn’t seem to know any more than I did about the coffin.

“What else?”

“I saw the English letter ‘B’ flashing in his mind, capitalized. It seemed to pulse in threes. One, two, three, pause then repeat.”

So far…nothing. Mike went on.

“There were also a large number of shadows which seemed to take almost humanoid form, only they weren’t really shadows.”

“So, non-shadow shadows and a Sesame Street routine?”

Michael and Katon gave me the same irritated look.

“I’m looking for clarification, that’s all.”

“And I’m just telling you what I saw. Mind reading isn’t an exact science, especially when it’s a corpse’s mind,” Michael replied, frustration in his voice. “They moved fluidly, like shadows, their shape stretched and pliant, but they weren’t dark. They were white, luminescent almost.” He threw up his arms, no doubt unable to describe what he saw in more detail. “The last two images, which were blurry, were of a figure hidden behind a dark cloak, no discernable features to be seen, and a giant crucifix set upon a hill, a mountain perhaps, looking down over a field of fresh graves.”

“What did the crucifix look like?” I asked. “I mean besides the obvious, Christ on a piece of wood.”

Michael took a second to think about it, dredging his absorbed memories. “It appeared to be made out of brass, or some other coppery-like substance. It stood high upon a scrub-covered hill, a white marble dais surrounding it. There were wide steps carved into the earth at its feet.” He slowed at the end and his eyes lit up as he recognized it.

“Mount Calvary,” we all said at the same time.

Set upon the highest point of the nearby Franklin Mountains, Mount Calvary overlooked El Paseo and the surrounding desert. A religious monument, it served as a place of worship for the dedicated disciples who braved the difficult climb to its summit each year around Easter.

Out of the way, hard to get to, and out of season so to speak, the monument was largely abandoned this time of year. It would make a perfect staging place for Reven.

“How reliable is the head’s information?” Katon asked.

“It’s only as reliable as our translation of the images.” He shrugged. “But if you’re asking if he’s capable of being deceitful, then the answer is not really, not to me. His master could order him to lie or keep quiet about something, but there’s nothing that can be done to thwart my scans.”

Katon nodded, seeming satisfied with the answer. “Then we’re off to visit Calvary.”

I sighed, wondering if I should let Katon in on what Karra had told me. While I might regret it later, I decided not to. Ultimately, I didn’t know if anything she’d said was true or just some effort to manipulate me into backing off. Either way, it probably didn’t matter much. We weren’t spoiled with choice.

With a nod to Katon, I handed Chatterbox over to a reluctant Michael to return him to DRAC. I couldn’t see leaving him behind, and if for no other reason, Michael could spend more time probing his mind.

As we headed off toward Mount Calvary, I waved to Chatterbox and turned away, sad to leave my singing companion behind.

It was the best head I’d ever had.

Chapter Twelve

Normally, I’d have just driven out to the Mount and worked my way up the hill, but Katon was a professional.

Or lazy.

Either way, he contacted Rahim and had the wizard teleport us onto the mountain, just a short distance from the cross itself. There, I peered up at the monument and was certain it was the one Michael had seen in Chatterbox’s mind. It looked exactly as he described it.

The hill was covered in yellow-green scrubs and explosions of hardy, wild grasses. From where we popped in, our route up the backside of the mountain was fairly inconspicuous and for the most part, easy. We’d be able to spot anyone on top of it before they could us.

Not that it mattered.

As it turned out, no one was there.

We crept low until we had a clear view of the monument, then walked the rest of the way once we were sure it was abandoned. Though, while there wasn’t anyone around, a whole bunch of evidence showed that someone had been there.

The first thing I noticed was a huge hole dug at the base of the white dais, just before the stairs. Mounds of rocky earth were piled to either side, each a couple of feet high and wide. There was a lot of dirt. While I couldn’t see into the hole from where I stood, it was clear by how much was excavated, it was deep.

As we moved closer, the brush clearing from our view, other things became apparent.

Scattered about the grave were dozens of zombie pieces. Arms, legs, and a myriad of other less definable body parts lay spread about, stained dark with wet blood and what looked like ashes. Scorch marks were present on some of the larger sections. Their presence probably explained Reven’s need for additional corpses, but it sure didn’t shed any light on what had happened here. Just as lost as before, I kept looking for clues.

Broken and melted candles surrounded the hole, most knocked to the side and trampled. Distorted and misshapen footprints were everywhere. The loose topsoil had been stomped down and stirred up across the entire area.

With my eyes peeled for an ambush, I peered into the hole as a thick, pungent scent wafted up and saturated my nose. Inside, the entire thing was filled with black, frothing blood. I couldn’t see the bottom through the dark murk, but there didn’t seem to be anything obvious lurking in the pool. Its inhabitant was likely gone.

“Care for a dip?”

Katon moved to my side and examined the hole with me. Seeing the blood, he went to the edge of the monument and retrieved a long branch from one of the bushes. Back at the hole, he shoved the branch inside, stirring the liquid and feeling for the bottom. He sighed, letting the limb slide from his hands into the pool. “It looks like Reven has succeeded in raising Longinus.”

I shook my head, remembering what Lilith had told me. Things didn’t add up. “I’m not sure he did.”

Katon raised an eyebrow.

“A source told me Reven had possession of Longinus’s body, stolen from its resting place in Limbo. If that’s true, given the body’s importance, why would he re-bury it out here and risk letting it out of his hands?”

Katon didn’t ask where I’d gotten my intel from. He knew the way I worked, understanding I wouldn’t name my source until necessary, but it didn’t stop him from questioning the factual integrity of the information and where it’d come from. “Can your source be trusted?”

It was a good question. “At this point, I can’t say for sure. But beyond the likelihood of manipulation, take a look around.” I gestured to the scene. “While there are candles all over the place, there aren’t any necromantic symbols. Wouldn’t Reven need some kind of a ritual to raise the dead?”

Katon glanced around, spinning in a tight circle, his eyes narrow. “Maybe they were drawn in the dirt.” He didn’t seem to believe that.

I pointed to a couple of areas where the dirt had been unmolested. “There were symbols everywhere in the mausoleum where he raised the zombies, why wouldn’t he need them here?”

It was Katon’s turn to shake his head. “I’m not familiar enough with necromancy to say.”

“And all this?” I pointed to the zombie pieces. “It looks like there was a fight here, and it doesn’t look like the zombies were on the winning side. Going back to my point, given the presumption Reven already had the body and he knew others were looking for it, does it make sense he’d leave it somewhere, guarded only by a bunch of corpses?”

“No it doesn’t, but you’re placing an inordinate amount of trust in what you’ve been told.” He held up a hand to shut me up. “Whether he raised Longinus or not, there are other things to be considered here. Reven may have been interrupted as he went about preparing the body, caught before he reached the symbol-drawing stage. There’s also the possibility Reven didn’t have the body to begin with and came here to retrieve it, or he left it here and someone else found it.” He shrugged. “There are a ton of scenarios for which we don’t know enough to discount.”

I sighed as I let his words sink in. He was right. There were far too many possibilities I wasn’t giving any thought to.

“Moreover, this could have nothing to do with Longinus.” He added fuel to the fire.

His words settling in, I looked the site over again, trying to piece it all together. The more I thought about it the more distorted my train of logic became, veering off the tracks to tumble into a chaotic pile of nonsense. What if he was right? What if the site hadn’t been for raising Longinus? What then?

A sick, bitter feeling crept over my stomach. There could be another player in the game, that’s what.

Growling, I turned to Katon who’d walked to the edge of the clearing, scanning the horizon. “What a mess.” Things were complicated enough, but if someone else were involved, there was no telling what we were looking at.

Katon nodded as if reading my mind. His face was a mask of lined frustration and sour thoughts. “You need to speak with your sources again, find out what you can. I’ll go and talk to Abra-”

His eyes went wide, his body rigid.

Before Katon could react, a sinewy hand burst from the ground beneath him, wrapping its fingers around his ankle. With a twist, he stumbled backward pulling his leg free, drawing his blade as he fell. He landed on his back, a cloud of dust billowing out around him.

An explosion of dirt filled the air as the arm was followed by a lithe, motley creature whose smile was filled with rows upon rows of razor sharp teeth. Its large, round black eyes swirled, sparks of fury lighting off in their darkness. It set its sights on Katon and barreled forward, steely claws and gaping mouth spearheading the way.

It took me as long to recognize the creature as it took for it to reach Katon.

It was a frickin’ ghoul.

A metaphorical cross between a zombie and a wolverine, ghouls were the clawed equivalent of a demolition derby. Fast, strong as a bear, and utterly fearless, they were the shock troops of the undead.

I shrugged off my surprise and drew my gun as three more ghouls rose up from their earthen hidey-holes. My first thought was for Katon. Spinning, my gun leading the way, I aimed at the creature hovering over him, its gnashing snout snapping. But before I could fire, Katon got his feet beneath it and sent it flying, sending it tumbling down the hill.

He hopped up as I turned to face the others. They were nearly on us.

Without aiming, I squeezed the trigger, my .45 barking in rapid succession. The ghouls charged forward, oblivious to the threat, hell-bent on tearing us to shreds.

My first shot slammed into the lead ghoul’s shoulder spinning it around, its momentum hardly slowing. The second bullet crashed into the meat of its back with thud, the third winging past without impact.

It stumbled and fell to the ground with a guttural snarl, its claws reaching for me as I stepped to the side, inches from being caught. The rest, showing no interest in me whatsoever, raged past me and headed for Katon. Confident he could hold them off long enough for me to do what I needed to with mine, I pointed my gun at the fallen ghoul’s head and fired.

It snapped up, spoiling my aim, my shot searing a black crevice across its cheek, but doing little more than irritating it. Cursing, I tried to jump out of its reach, but it was faster—an occurrence so common I feel embarrassed to admit it. With a backhanded swipe, it sent my pistol flying from my hand, over the edge of the monument, and down the mountain. It seemed like an eternity passed as I watched it bounce down the hill to disappear behind a steep drop.

In reality, it was only a split second. Just long enough for me to end up on the receiving end of its follow through. Sharp claws raked my face, tearing burning trails along my check and jaw. Out of instinct, I rolled with the attack, whipping an elbow around through my spin. It connected to the back of the creature’s head with a satisfying thud, driving it forward and down into the dirt. I didn’t give it a chance to clear its mouth before I hopped on its back, wrapping my legs around its torso, my arms around its neck.

Undead, with no need to breathe, a choke would normally be a useless maneuver to pull on a ghoul. However, given my devil-enhanced strength, augmented by a couple of handy soul transfers, the position gave me the edge I needed. On its back, I was largely immune to the power in its hands, its claws unable to gain the momentum needed to do real harm. It also lacked the leverage to pull me off or shake me loose, my legs locked around its waist in a securing body-triangle.

It squirmed beneath me as I squeezed, working my shoulder into it to apply as much force as I could, arching my back. It grunted and screeched, tearing at my arms. I hunched up a little, pressing my full weight onto the back of its neck. Then with everything I had, I twisted my upper body, screaming with effort.

Its neck snapped with a horrific pop that rang inside my ears.

Though a broken neck wasn’t something that would kill a ghoul, their ferocity stayed only by overwhelming damage, I was content with separating the engine from the drive shaft, so to speak. Unable to coordinate its body’s movement, it could only thrash about on the ground once I’d gotten off of it, as its head swung limply, like a slobbering tether-ball.

Remembering Katon, I looked to see where he was. In the time I’d taken out my one ghoul, he’d finished off two and was on the way to ending the third, as well. It lay pinned to the ground with him sitting on top. The creature bucked and hissed as it tried to hold back Katon’s sword, it claws wrapped around the pommel.

I retrieved my gun and hurried over, but as I ran I realized Katon wasn’t trying to stab the ghoul, he was trying to pull his weapon free. The ghoul had locked its grip onto the sword and was pulling with all his might to yank the blade loose, snapping at Katon’s hands with its teeth.

While a bit thrown off by the weirdness of the situation, I couldn’t sit around and do nothing. Once I’d reached their sides, I let a kick fly, my steel-toed boot crashing into the ghoul’s jaw. Its growl turned into a gurgle as the force of the blow rolled its head to the side, pus-green spittle spraying the dirt.

Katon yanked his sword free and stood in a single movement, swinging his blade in a wide arc that circled over his head and swept down in a symphony of viciousness. An instant later, the ghoul’s head rolled free of its neck, blackish-green ichor streaming out across the dirt. One last startled snarl rumbled out of its mouth before it went silent, its un-life ended in a heap.

“You all right?” he asked.

My manhood swirling down the drain, I glared at him as I returned to the ghoul I wounded and stomped his head into jelly. “Yes, daddy, I’m fine. Thank you for rescuing poor, little old me from the big, mean bogeymen.”

He chuckled, a cold, pretentious chuckle, making me feel even more useless, and sheathed his blade. “They were after my sword.” He gestured to the re-dead ghouls. He seemed truly offended.

I did the math. “Undead, plus Longinus, plus an attempt to steal a sword made from Longinus’s spear, all seems to equal Reven.” I hoped I was wrong. If not, it would seriously hamper my chances of sleeping with Karra if I had to kill her master.

“There are still too many unknowns to make that leap for certain, but yeah, it does seem to lean that direction. With Reven being the only actor we know of who has the ability to raise the dead, I’d say he’s trying to stack the deck in his favor as much as possible. Longinus reunited with his weapon would be quite formidable.”

Forget what I said earlier. Katon was the new recipient of The Understatement of the Year award.

Frustrated, I wandered over to the edge of the monument, staring off at the desert below. Miles and miles of brown and muted yellows stretched out before my eyes, broken into giant rectangles by the harsh lines of fences that divided the ranch properties that spanned the area. I followed the dark stripe of a road and spotted where the highway met the private, narrow lanes.

At their union, I saw the Cattle King restaurant, a high-dollar steak joint built to capitalize on the owner’s monopoly of the region’s cattle ranches. Suddenly thinking of a t-bone, my mouth watered while my brain swirled, a half-formed thought bubbling up out of the muck.

“It can’t be that easy, can it?” I asked, mostly to myself.

Katon moved to my side. “What?”

My mind shuddered, the gears grinding as it struggled to engage. “The ranches.”

No doubt impressed by my ability to speak coherently, Katon stared at me like one would a toddler, waiting for me to put it all together into words that made sense.

“Michael said he saw the capital letter ‘B’ three times in Chatterbox’s mind.” I pointed down toward the steakhouse, my finger trailing off to the open fields a little ways beyond it. “The Triple B Ranch.”

Katon narrowed his eyes and let them follow the direction of my finger. He was quiet for a moment, no doubt deciding whether my suggestion was brilliant or bat shit stupid. “You might be right.”

The judges say, “Brilliant.”

“It might just be coincidence but it can’t hurt—much—to check it out. Besides, it’s all we’ve got. We’re still in the dark here.”

Right then, someone made me a liar.

Way off in the distance, the sky lit up in deep reds and searing yellows layered in black, a mushroom cloud of fiery hell erupting. The ground rumbled as a booming crack reverberated through the air, the clouds wavering before my eyes. I felt the pressure build against my ringing ears as I stared off toward the conflagration.

“That’s Old Town!” I sputtered as I watched raging flash fires spring up in the vicinity of what appeared to be Fiesta Street.

Katon, the glow reflected in his wide eyes, nodded solemnly. “We’ve got to get down there.”

Certain I knew who was responsible, I hesitated to agree as he put the call into Rahim.

I climbed down the hill and retrieved my gun, my eyes staring off into the distance as Old Town burned, the fires spreading through the slums and warehouses, consuming each with passion. Black smoke billowed up while licks of flames illuminated the blackness. It was like a war zone, a battlefield upon which Hell was unleashed. It wasn’t someplace I wanted to be. Even more so, I certainly didn’t want to confront the architect of its destruction.

Baalth.

Chapter Thirteen

Minutes later, Katon and I arrived in Old Town, Rahim with us. I’d asked the wizard not to come, his unhealed injuries a possible liability to his safety, but stubborn as always, he came anyway. Who was I to tell him no?

We arrived just off Fiesta Street, at the edge of the desert where tiny fires danced in the brush. Even from where we stood, the heat from the roaring flames was like sticking your face in a crematory. I felt my skin drying as I stood there, the moisture sucked right out of it. My cheeks felt like hard plastic with three day stubble, the scratches from the ghoul burning. Katon and Rahim grimaced, the heat getting even to them, as we surveyed the scene. Judging by the looks on their faces, they were thinking the same thing I was.

This was Hell.

As we decided which way to go, a cool breeze sprung up and swirled around us, shielding us from the brunt of the heat. I glanced to Rahim and saw his eyes fluttering with a bright red. Tiny droplets of sweat glistened on his forehead.

“Is that safe?”

He nodded. “It’s nothing that will tax me too seriously, rest assured.” There was sarcasm in his voice, but I could see his temple throbbing. It wasn’t as easy as he was trying to pass it off as.

“It’s rough getting old, huh?” My foot in mouth disease came out of remission.

He glared at me, but there was an obvious, and saddened, look of concession on his face. He knew his best days were past and it was hard for him to accept that. Strong, independent, and willful, Rahim had defied time and aged with a grace few mortals will ever know. Asmoday’s minion had taken all that away from him.

While my uncle’s blood was able to repair his injured spine and nerves, it wasn’t meant for humans. We’d taken a chance when I gave it to Rahim and he benefited more than we could have ever hoped. The truth was, however, Rahim was never gonna be the same man he was before his spine was shattered. We understood that, but worse for the knowledge, Rahim understood it. He understood it all too well. And like any fighter who’d lived by the strength of his hands, the speed of his body, and the sharpness of his wit, it was heart rending to see the man once he realized those days were gone.

Rather than poke the wound further, I gave him a weak smile to show I empathized, then turned to find a clear route through the swirling miasma of flames. It was easier said than done.

Whatever had happened, ignoring the obvious answer, set the neighborhood ablaze with arcane fire. Not restricted to consuming only the normally combustible materials, magical fire burned everything. Licks of flame crept up the side of stone buildings, searing brick and melting mortar. Glass windows dripped and ran down the walls in sparkling waterfalls. The asphalt beneath our feet was a pool of black slag. It was like walking through stinky, warm chocolate pudding.

I wouldn’t be licking that spoon.

Fiesta Street was a war zone. Chunks of buildings were missing, blasted into rubble. Pockmarks riddled the sidewalks and streets, where the sludge had yet to ooze over and fill in. Body parts lay everywhere, flickering with tiny fire lights, the air thick with the scent of burnt flesh and hair.

For six blocks we walked, dodging falling remnants and glass rain, doing our best to keep our eyes off the carnage scattered about us. There was nothing we could do for the dead. For the survivors, we could only hope they didn’t live long.

A little ways in, we knew we’d reached ground zero. All the buildings for two blocks were blasted away in a circle, nothing but ruined foundations left to mark where they once stood. The ground had been seared by heat so hot, it had turned to glass. Black shards, like jagged puzzle pieces, covered the area, reflecting fiery shimmers. In the center of it all, on his knees naked, his reddened flesh steaming, was Baalth.

I felt the tension in Rahim amp up, my senses pricking to the sudden rise in magical energy. With a hand raised to forestall any pre-emptive attack, I headed toward the demon lieutenant, placing myself between him and the wizard. It wasn’t someplace I wanted to be, but I’d seen the fury in Baalth’s eyes, felt the barely restrained power that seeped from his pores, seeking a way out. Now was not the time to provoke the beast.

Funny thing, life. Who’d have thought I’d be the least likely to set Baalth off?

Doing nothing to hide my presence, I walked toward him, my footsteps crunching. He didn’t move. My teeth grinding together, I took a few more steps, stopping when I was about ten feet away.

“Hey, big guy.” I tried to sound as innocuous as possible.

His head rose and his narrow gaze met mine. It took everything I had not to shit myself.

A flurry of obsidian shadows whirled behinds his eyes, sparks of angry red flaring in waves. His cheeks were sunken and his upper lip was curled, his teeth glaring out at me in a snarl. His temples throbbed as he stared through me, a low rumbling shaking the ground.

If I had any doubt he’d been the cause of the destruction, the look on his face sent it scampering away like a Chihuahua kicked in the ass.

Against the advice of the screaming voices in my head, I raised my hands and moved closer. Baalth’s gaze never wavered, but I could see his body tensing, readying to act. Fully aware of what he was capable of, my courage took a dump. I dropped down to my knees fast, while still about five feet away.

“What happened?”

He looked like he wanted to kill me. Though that wasn’t exactly something new, I was hoping he wouldn’t actually go through with it. While my life wasn’t all pussies and cream, I was kinda attached to it. If I was gonna die, I could think of a million better ways to go out than being burned to a cinder by a psychotic demon.

After a few tense moments, me not daring to breathe, his chin dropped and a visible shiver ran up his body. I felt my heart start up again.

“He’s taken them,” he told me, his voice sounding like burning coals. Once more his fists clenched tight, bone white standing out against reddened flesh.

“Who?”

A palpable wave of rage preceded his answer. “Reven.” His voice was little more than a whisper, but that one word spewed a tsunami of venom. “He’s taken my men.”

“Poe and Marcus?” While it explained the big boom, it didn’t make much sense. Then again, I found myself swallowing what Karra had told me as if it were fact. It was messing with my judgment, what little there was.

“McConnell as well.” He grunted, his teeth bared. “They retrieved the wizard from your people and were returning him to me.” He stood, a leviathan rising from a sea of anger. Flickers of crimson energy crackled at his hands. His eyes raged. “Here in my own domain, Reven’s ghouls took my men from me and I was too late to stop them.” He scanned the conflagration, his trembling hand on his chest. “From me. Here.”

The ground thundered as I got to my feet. “Easy, Baalth. Destroying everything you’ve worked to build isn’t gonna bring them back.”

He looked ready to lose it. I couldn’t blame him. Matter of fact, I was getting a little pissed myself. I wanted to trust Karra, to believe that Reven had loftier goals than how they appeared on the surface. Yet, at every corner, I stumbled upon something that only pointed toward his guilt. I was half-tempted to stir the pot and sic Baalth after Reven. It was no less than he probably deserved. The only thing keeping me from doing it was the thought Baalth would kill Karra before I got a chance to see her boobs.

Oh, and he’d destroy the world while he was at it. I guess that’s important too.

Torn, I glanced up at him as tiny surges of shimmering energy leapt from his swinging hands and danced in the air before him. I could feel their power tickle the hairs on my arms . It was like standing in the wake of a lightning bolt. It was unsettling, to say the least.

He turned and met my eyes and nodded shallow. “I can’t…” He swallowed hard, as if debating what he was willing to say. He cast a furtive glance at Rahim and Katon, then stood and stepped close so only I could hear. “I can’t control it.”

A bit uncertain of what he meant, I asked for clarification. “Can’t control what?”

He drew himself up, hesitation still etched on his face. “My magic.” He shook, rumbles echoing through the earth. “A spark turns into a blaze, a blaze into an inferno. It fights to be free. It will not be denied.”

The helplessness I heard in his voice stabbed me in the chest. I’d never once, in all my hundreds of years knowing him, ever seen Baalth as anything other than in control. Tempered by the fury of Hell and the brutality of the battlefield, he was a warrior to the marrow. He faced death boldly, never once turning a cheek as he stood toe-to-toe against the Angelic Choir. He’d decried God, laying siege to the Pearly Gates themselves without fear. Yet there he was, alone, more powerful than any being in existence, and all I could see was misery draping him like a funeral shroud.

Though I probably should have filed that moment away, saving it for future blackmail, I couldn’t help but feel for the guy. He’d realized his dreams only to find they were made of shit and tears.

I could relate.

Before my brain could tell my mouth to fuck off and mind its own business, it dug a hole for me. “I’ll find them.”

He looked at me wide-eyed. If I could have seen my face, it probably looked the exact same as his: surprised.

“Would you?” Hope blossomed in his eyes, though it made him no less imposing. The earth rumbled once more, but its growl was somewhat subdued.

Painted into a corner by my goody two-shoes tongue, I nodded. There wasn’t anything else I could do. Besides, I really couldn’t have Baalth rampaging around like Godzilla, burning the city down. Though I really wasn’t all that concerned about Marcus or The Gray—they could both go suck the business end of a bazooka—I felt a pang of pity for Poe. While we were on opposite sides of the fence, he’d earned my respect.

Besides, from the sound of things, I was going after Reven already so what was one more reason? It sure didn’t hurt to be on Baalth’s good side.

He leaned in even closer, so close I could smell the ashy wisps of energy drifting off his naked skin. My nervousness grew as he crowded against me to whisper into my ear.

I could only hope the thing pressed warmly against my leg wasn’t what I thought it was.

“Do this for me—” A banjo serenade played in my head. “—and I’ll grant you a portion of my power as well as forgive your contract.”

At that moment, I didn’t care what he was rubbing on me. In fact, the promise of power had me contemplating a sore jaw. Fortunately, because I’d have embarrassed myself right there, that wasn’t one of the requirements.

Unable to wipe the smile from my face, I met his eyes as he stepped back. While excited by the offer of power for something I’d have done for free, I still knew better than to take his word for it. “Not that I don’t trust you, but—”

He cut me off with a wave, a narrow smile on his lips. He knew how things worked. In fact, I probably earned a few points of respect in his eyes by bringing it up.

With a flash of his hands a contract poofed into being. He bit his palm, letting the blood pool before making his mark. Finished, he blew on the contract to dry it, warm winds fluttering by. He then passed it to me. I read it over, scanning every word, looking for hidden caveats.

To my surprise, there were none. It was an amendment of our original, voiding the first and laying out the terms just as Baalth said they’d be. I took a second look, my mind unable to rationalize a catch-free contract.

“You sure about this?” Against my better judgment, I gave him an out.

He nodded. “The deal stands.” He gestured for me to return the contract. I did with a shaking hand. “Return my men to me, alive, and the power will be yours. You will owe me no more.”

The ground rumbled again, the relief on his face fading.

“Hurry, Triggaltheron.” He looked about at the ruin of his domain, his eyes moist. “For all of our sakes.”

Serpentine tendrils of mist seeped from the ground beneath him, coiling up his legs and wrapping him in ebony shadows. His weary gaze fell on me as the darkness swallowed his face. An instant later, he was gone.

Amidst the wreckage of Old Town, I stood with a blazoning smile amongst the burning buildings and the scorched earth as Rahim and Katon approached.

“You two an item now?” Katon asked.

“There you go with that jealousy act again.” I grinned. “You can’t have me.”

I knew Katon was mostly being sarcastic, but buried beneath his comment was a flowing undercurrent of distrust. He knew Baalth and I had a history, the demon lieutenant having saved my life long ago, and that would forever taint his opinion of me. He would never admit it, nor would he let it interfere with our work, but I knew there was a part of Katon that sat in reserve waiting for the day Baalth called in his marker and he’d have to kill me.

It was a chilling thought.

I never told anyone my original debt to Baalth was already paid, letting them presume otherwise. My guilt wouldn’t let me tell them. My stomach churned as I thought about what I’d had to do to free myself from the entanglements of Baalth’s strings.

Fortunately, Rahim wasn’t in the mood for my introspection, which was good, because I wasn’t either.

“Since even Ray Charles can see Baalth is to blame for this,” He gestured to the sputtering ruins, “can you tell me why?”

“Reven kidnapped his men: Poe, Marcus, and to top it off, McConnell.”

Rahim’s face showed a mix of understanding and crass apathy. He probably cared for Baalth’s goons even less than I did.

“I’m presuming since Old Town is a smoking crater and he handed you a contract, he was unable to stop the necromancer and wants you to do so?”I nodded. “He’s on edge, his power all over the place. You felt the rumbling, right?”

Both had.

“Is he dangerous?” Rahim asked, the unspoken understanding he meant more so than usual.

“Very much so,” I had to admit. “He passed the rescue on to me because I believe he thinks he’s about to lose it.”

Katon glanced around, a harsh laugh slipping out. “I think we’re past that point.”

“This is just a sniffle compared to the plague he’d unleash if his power slipped loose. I think he bit off way more than he could chew when he claimed Glorius’s soul. It’s eating him up inside.”

“And we’re worried about the zombie Anti-Christ when we’ve got a full blown Satan on our hands, counting down the moments until he blows?”

“Baalth is a known quantity. He values his life as much as we do ours. More importantly, he values his status. He won’t do anything to compromise his place in the new order. He’ll hold on as long as he can. At least as long as he thinks things are being handled.” I sighed, the smoke burning my lungs. “On the other hand, Reven and Longinus are unknowns. We have no clue as to their end-game plans.” It’s never good when I’m the voice of reason.

“Frank is right.” It must have hurt for Rahim to admit that. “We stay focused on Reven. When we’ve ended the necromancer’s threat, we’ll worry about Baalth.” He paused and let his eyes roam the destruction. “If we’re around to worry at all.”

The wailing sound of fire engines in the distance snatched my moment away. “I’m gonna look around a bit, see what I can see before the public servants show up.” Conflicted, and certain it was my penis telling me to believe Karra, I was desperate to resolve things, one way or another.

“I’ll stick with Frank,” Katon told Rahim. “If you’d inform Abraham of our plans, I’d be grateful.”

Though Katon tried to be subtle, Rahim’s face drooped, his mood flat-lining. Not used to being coddled, kept in the back with the children and elderly, he took it hard. It was the closest thing to a literal heartbreak I’d ever seen. His eyes narrowed, the corners fluttering, his lips drawn into a straight line. The muscles in his neck were tight, bulging against the skin.

Though he had to know Katon was only thinking of his well-being, the wound was no less deep. In fact, it was much worse. It wasn’t me who said it, someone whose opinion Rahim usually filed away as inconsequential. It had been Katon, the closest thing to family the wizard had, outside of Abraham.

“I’ll do that.” He wouldn’t meet Katon’s eyes. His voice was thick. “Let me know what you find.” A sparkle of red flickered at his hands then he was gone in a flash of energy.

Katon sighed. Though he hadn’t meant it, he’d dealt his friend the most grievous of blows. He sundered his ego.

“He’ll be fine.” I hoped I sounded convincing. “We all get old and—” The absurdity of my statement hit me. Katon shook his head.

I laughed. Not an amused laugh, but a sickly, whoops kind of laugh. Though I was only half devil, I’d inherited my uncle’s lifespan. I’d live forever provided no one took exception to my doing so. Katon, being a vampire, was in the same boat. Neither of us would get old or infirm. We’d never have to worry about porches or rocking chairs, adult diapers or Viagra.

I was just glad Rahim left before I put my foot in my mouth again. “I’m gonna look over here.” I wandered off to the perimeter of the ruined street while Katon went to the other side in silence.

With a raspy sigh, I started sifting through the rubble. Not sure what I hoped to find, my eyes were peeled for anything. The growing sounds of sirens spurred me on. While it would take the firefighters a while to arrive, the distance from Old Town with the wreckage in between slowing them, I didn’t want to be there when they showed up.

Halfway around the block, nearest the furthest edge of the conflagration, I spied something sticking out from beneath a pile of charred rubble. As I got closer, I realized it was a leg. My heart slowed.

While no saint, my hands stained with my own actions, I’d never been a fan of the slaughter of innocents, those who never intentionally, or willingly, gave in to the darkness that lurks inside us all. Old Town was full of people who could never comfortably wear the tag of innocence, but it was also littered with people who hadn’t let the corruption take hold and who were only here because they had nowhere else to go.

Baalth’s moment of weakness hadn’t been selective. His rage killed them all.

Torn between the morality my mother invested in me and the coldness life had impressed upon me, reality won out. I’d seen far too many horrific things to let their weight bear me down and keep me from acting. Though my actions often cost lives, they’d also saved them, the latter in far greater numbers than the former.

It’s easy to frown upon people who claim the end justifies the means, arguing the case of those who fell beneath the wheels. It’s much harder to accept that death is sometimes the price we have to pay for life.

Baalth’s tantrum had cost lives, but if it led me to the means to save more, I could live with that.

At least that’s what I kept telling myself.

I knelt down beside the protruding leg, stirring up the thick scent of charred flesh. It was bitter, rank. The skin not hidden beneath the ashy blackness was sallow and dry, tight against the bone. It looked odd to me, for some reason. Dark lines and smudges covered the leathery flesh.

Thinking it was maybe one of Reven’s ghouls, I dug around a bit more, clearing chunks of brick and mortar away, pieces of wood and wiring, until I found its head. Or what was left of it. Crushed beyond recognition, what stuck out had the same sickly yellow coloring as its leg, what was left of its jaw was stretched so tight it had no wrinkles.

Despite my inner voices telling me not to, I muscled the hunk of wall off the body’s head, an oozing wetness squeezing between my fingers. Blood and brain matter met me, streamers of gray, red, and yellow peeled away, sticking to the wall piece like a morbid rainbow. The remains of the head lay in a pool of blackish blood.

I knew then it wasn’t a zombie.

It wasn’t human either. Not anymore.

“We’ve got to go, Frank.” Katon waved to me from across the street, motioning with his chin toward the approaching fire trucks.

Grumbling, I took one last look at the body, trying to confirm what I suspected. I still wasn’t sure, but with no time left to examine it in detail, suspicion was all I had.

Prodded by the wailing serenade of the El Paseo Fire Department, I sprinted off after Katon. My head was a jumble of conflicting thoughts, tumbling about like hobbit acrobats. At that moment, there was only one thing I knew for certain as the drift of smoke filled my lungs.

I was in the mood for barbeque.

Chapter Fourteen

With no place else to go, Katon and I meandered over to the Triple B Ranch. Situated at the outskirts of the city, its massive expanse butting up against the desert, we had our work cut out for us.

A true ranching tycoon, Beuford Billy Bandy owned tens of thousands of acres of scrubland that stretched from the edge of El Paseo all the way into the neighboring state. Open ranged and uncultivated, with little in the way of markers, it was like looking for a clean needle in a drug den to find something that didn’t either moo or hiss.

“We’ve been out here for hours. Can’t you like, turn into a bat or something and do a flyover? My balls are swimming, man.” The sun was setting but the heat of the day had yet to dissipate.

Katon rolled his eyes. “I’m not Dracula, you Yahoo.”

“But I’m a shit-flinging ape, am I? Well, you’re lucky I only have to piss.” Grumbling I wandered off to find a strand of bushes that looked in need of watering. “You can blah me, Count Blackula.”

Though he tried to muffle it with his hand, I heard Katon chuckle as I slipped behind a wide strand of Creosote growing out of a nearby dune. I wasn’t sure if he was laughing at the joke or at me for being shy. Right then, it didn’t matter. All I cared about was emptying my bladder to get rid of the yellow haze tinting my vision.

A quick zip and yank later, Niagara Falls had come to the desert. Sighing as the biblical flood was reenacted at my feet, a colony of ants swept down the dune, I stared off through the bushes, my eyes on the yellowish-purple sunset. It didn’t get any better than this.

The pressure relieved, I shook a couple of times, then shook a couple more because it felt good. As I packed everything away, a flash off in the distance caught my eye. Pushing the creosote bush to the side, I stared across the desert to where I’d seen the movement, my breath catching in my lungs.

Just a couple hundred yards away, surrounded by scrub grass and molting zombies was Reven, his black cloak fluttering in the light breeze, giving him away. The bulk of his minions stood in a row, lifeless bodies hanging limp in their arms. The others stood over the same type of tubs I’d seen the last time, tearing out throats and draining the bodies of blood.

Suddenly mindful of where I was, I dropped down into a crouch and scanned the desert for Karra. The last thing I needed was for her to sneak up on me. While I had Katon with me, she’d proven far too capable for me to believe his presence was a guarantee of safety. Relieved I knew where she was, though still somewhat nervous, I spotted her on the far side of the zombies, partially obscured by their mass. She was pacing, kicking up dirt at every step, her hand never leaving the pommel of her blade. She looked tense. Can’t say I blamed her.

I guess, sensing my apprehension, Katon crept to my side, mindful of the puddle I’d left in the sand.

“You must be part Irish,” he said, peeking through the bushes.

“Don’t be sneakin’ a peak at me shillelagh.”

An offended twitch rattled his shoulders, his eyes glued on Reven and company. This close to our quarry, he was all business.

“I count sixty zombies. With the necromancer and his pet, we’re going to have our hands full.”

“I’ll handle Karra.” Warm feelings washed over my crotch as I thought about just how I’d like to handle her.

He shook his head. “Stay on task, Frank. Last few times you tangled with her, she handed you your ass. I don’t know how you managed to avoid being killed, but your luck, if that’s what we’re calling it, can’t last forever.” He surveyed the desert landscape as he let his meaning sink in. He knew there was something there between Karra and I, but didn’t know what.

He could join the club.

“You head that way. Stick to the shrubs until you get a clear shot on Reven. The second you do, take it. Put him down.”

“We’re not even sure what he’s doing yet?” My suspicions churned in my stomach.

“Doesn’t matter.” Katon’s voice was cold. “Without a necromancer, Longinus is just another stiff. Threat ended.”

He was right. He was always right, and I hated it. While Katon had no idea who the other players in the game were—as if I did—he knew they all wanted the same thing; power. That meant Longinus. Without Reven to animate him, he wasn’t a factor in anyone’s plans. With a grudging nod, I agreed.

There went my chances with Karra. I was only partially comforted by the thought I probably never had a chance to begin with.

Katon pointed to me and slipped off down the dune, going the opposite of where he told me. Silent, not even rustling the bushes in his wake, he was gone, a shadow merging with the growing dimness.

Disgruntled, I tugged my gun out and headed off like a good little soldier. There is something inherently unsatisfying about following orders when the consequences are unclear. Maybe it was just my uncle’s influence rearing its rebellious head, but I was having a hard time with the idea of putting a bullet in Reven’s head.

It wasn’t because I thought he was a good guy, far from it. You can’t muck about with reanimating corpses and wear a white hat. People had to die so the dead could live. That was just the fact of it. I also wasn’t hesitant because of Karra. Well, not too much. Yeah, shooting her master in the face was probably high on the list of first date don’ts, but I could live with not getting any. Shit, that was an everyday occurrence, or non-occurrence, however you want to say it.

My problem was I felt like I was being played from all ends. Karra had to answer to Reven’s whims and all her talk of the greater good could have been a setup. For what, I had no idea, but I couldn’t just accept her word Reven wasn’t looking to do harm.

Then there was Lilith, succubus, mother of Veronica, and all around snake in the grass. I could take a shit in the woods and hit one of her lies. The problem was, though I knew she wasn’t telling me everything, there didn’t seem to be any logical reason for her to want Longinus reanimated. As a zombie, she’d have no control over him, no influence. He’d be nothing to her. It didn’t make sense.

As I crept around the creosote, my head kept circling back to the body I’d found in Old Town. Baalth had told me it was Reven’s ghouls who’d kidnapped his men, but I hadn’t seen any ghouls around Reven. There’d only been the ones at Calvary, but I couldn’t say for certain who was controlling them. Besides, the crispy critter I’d looked at didn’t seem to be a ghoul. It didn’t look like a zombie either, way too much fresh blood and brain bits. If I had to guess, I’d say it looked a lot more like a gaunt, a human victim of a succubus’s feeding.

If that were the case, then the stakes were much higher than I’d been led to believe. If Lilith were willing to risk Baalth’s wrath by tricking him into going after Reven personally, the payout had to be tremendous. Were he to find out, there’s no place in Heaven or Hell where she’d be safe from his retribution.

If she were willing to play Baalth so boldly, what was she willing to do to little old me?

In position to shoot Reven, I found myself hesitating. He stood there, directing his zombies, oblivious to my presence as I’d camped out just beyond what I believed to be the range of his senses. My gun was pointed at him, but I couldn’t get my finger to pull the trigger. What was the price of Reven’s death? The question ricocheted inside my head, always missing the answer. My hand shook, my heart trusting Katon, but my body wouldn’t obey.

A second later, it no longer mattered.

“Down,” Karra screeched, her blades drawn in a silver blur as she raced toward Reven. Even masked, I could see the grim determination on her face. The necromancer whirled and dove in her direction, his zombies forming a defensive wall.

About twenty yards from her, I saw Katon spring from the bushes, his own blade out. At first I’d thought he or I had spooked Karra, giving ourselves away, but when I saw the glistening shimmer lighting up the desert sky, I realized it hadn’t been us.

From behind Katon, a growing glow whistled toward us like furious storm winds. Clouds of dirt swirled around it. Seeing it, Reven scrambled into the darkness, his zombies jumbled up behind him. Karra stood her ground, alternating her glare between Katon and the lightshow that sped ever closer, her swords at the ready.

Having given up all pretense of surprise, I stepped out of hiding, moving around toward Katon. I held my gun on Karra and kept my distance, knowing damn well how quick she was. It didn’t take but a second before she knew I was there.

“Damn it, Triggaltheron.” Her voice was a wolf’s growl. “I was trying to protect you.” She motioned toward the light. “There’s nothing I can do now.”

Katon edged forward, looking for an opening, when Reven called out, “Come, Karra. Their fate is not ours.”

She hesitated a second, her eyes meeting mine, yet never letting her guard down. “If you’re lucky, there’ll be enough of you left for Reven to raise after all this is over.”

She backed away, the zombie line broke apart for her to pass. Behind them, Reven stood in a shallow grave, his hand extended to her, his yellow glowing eyes sputtering. Once she was passed, the zombies reformed, blocking Katon from following. No real threat to him, it was clear their job was only to slow him down. It worked.

As soon as Karra reached Reven, their palms interlocking, an ebon mist boiled up beneath them, smoky tendrils encircling the grave. Karra dropped into the hole beside her master and gave me one last glance as the blackness engulfed them.

I thought I saw pity in her eyes before they disappeared.

A frigid tremor ran up my spine as the mist cleared. The grave was empty, tiny wisps of dark drifting up to fade away. Karra and Reven were gone.

Katon, fury tattooed on his face, turned to face the incoming lights, keeping the remaining zombies in sight. They stood their ground, but did nothing.

Unsure of what their final orders were, I didn’t turn my back to the zombies, but my focus was on the rapidly approaching lights. Something told me the resident corpses were the least of my concerns.

I hate when I’m right.

Nearer, the mass of shimmering lights resolved into a dozen singular, brilliant glows. A moment later, they drifted to a stop in front of us, each glow taking on a humanoid form. I felt a sudden chill as the temperature dropped drastically. My heart skipped a beat as I realized what they were.

Revenants. These were Michael’s non-shadow shadows.

Made of pure, magical energy, there was little to distinguish them from each other, save for the superficial attempts at mimicking what I imagined was their original appearances. Most seemed male, though a couple had decidedly more feminine characteristics. One was even hot enough to warrant a second look.

I’m not biased.

In flowing robes of glistening white, their whirling yellow eyes casting severe glances our direction, they fanned out into a half-circle. The one at the center, an older looking man whose face was far more defined than the rest, took a step forward and addressed us.

“Where is Reven?” His voice was like dry ice. Whispers of frost wafted out of his mouth as he spoke.

I started to answer, but Katon waved me to silence. “He isn’t here.” He gestured to the shallow grave. “We came here looking for him as well, but he fled when he saw you approaching.”

The old revenant glanced about, a crooked smile on his ethereal lips. “Enemies of this necromancer, are you?” His smile turned into a smirk. “Seems a bit strange to find you amongst the soldiers of your supposed foe yet see no signs of battle, no inkling of hostility. It makes one think you are not entirely truthful.”

Angered by his attitude, my mouth ran amok. “I don’t know who you are, or what your business with Reven is, but you can kiss my ass if you think we’re buddies with corpse boy.”

His face stretched with the glory of his smile. “I am Daartan, leader of the White Knights. I have been charged by the Almighty Himself to the care of the lost souls of the conquered Anti-Christs. God help those who stand in my way.”

The air got even colder, my balls drawn in tight. I’d never met Daartan, but Lucifer had spoken of him, and not in anything resembling polite terms. Freed from eternal imprisonment in Limbo by God, it was the White Knights’ job to ensure the fallen souls of Satan’s Anti-Christs stayed fallen.

He was one bad dude.

Katon must have seen my face, because he jumped in again. “Regardless of how it may seem, we are not allied with Reven. We’ve come here to stop him before he returns Longinus to life.” He sheathed his sword in a show of peace.

Daartan watched him, his eyes narrowing to pinpricks of light. “You’ve no ties to the necromancer yet you wield a blade once belonging to Longinus?”

Katon’s face went white, well, closer to gray. It didn’t take a genius to realize what the knight was getting at. With the zombies sitting peacefully by like we were pals, it didn’t look good. This wasn’t a fight we wanted.

“Appearances can be deceiving.” Though he didn’t reach for his sword, I could tell Katon was ready for action.

“Perhaps, but in the end, it matters little.” The wall of revenants edged closer. “I find it best to secure the weapon, ensuring it can do no harm to me or mine.” Something in his tone made me think that was what he planned all along.The clarion sounded, Katon didn’t wait to be attacked. He sprung at Daartan, his sword in his hand in a blur. Unsurprised, the knight backpedaled, raising a shield of sparking energy to deflect Katon’s blow. Undeterred, Katon pressed forward. The rest of the revenants laid into the zombie horde.

Have you ever been in a fight where you just know you’re outclassed? When you feel deep down, you haven’t got a chance? Everything you do, your opponent does better? That’s how I felt right then.

It didn’t stop me, though.

While revenants weren’t exactly angels or demons, having become something entirely different after death, there was still some part of their original essence in the mix. At least, I’d hoped there was. If not, I was in for one hell of an ass-whippin’.

I drew my gun and snapped off a couple of shots. The first ripped through the nearest revenant, a wispy trail of light shooting out its back. The second struck home, piercing its eye, gold-yellow flecks exploding like a glitter factory. It wavered and its glow flickered, like a bulb about to go out.

Before I could hit it again, an arc of laser-fine light was swung at my head. I spotted it in my peripheral vision and just managed to step clear as a scythe of pure energy carved a sizzling gash inches from where I’d just been. Shards of steaming glass sprayed up from the crystallized ground, pelting me with a thousand bee stings. Squeezing my eyes shut to avoid losing one, I spun out of the jagged rain and opened them only to have to dodge another scythe blow.

Again and again, the revenant swung its glowing death at me, and time and time again, I barely managed to step clear. It didn’t take a bookie to realize the odds were turning against me. I was on the defensive and there was only one of them trying to take my head off. Once the rest finished the zombies and headed my way, I was dead.

Turns out, I didn’t have to wait that long.

Risking a desperate shot, I paused for just an instant. The scythe didn’t. It slashed downward, slicing cleanly through the barrel of my gun, missing my trigger finger by a pubic hair. Unfortunately, there wasn’t time for relief.

Having cut through the bullet in the chamber, it exploded. Unlike in the movies, there wasn’t any dramatic slowing of the scene, giving me time to react. There was only a searing agony in my hand and the instant realization it was only gonna get worse. And it did. Fast.

Like dominos, the rest of the shells in the clip exploded. The pain in my hand disappeared as tiny fragments of demon-slaying bullets and gun remnants spread the agony. Under the needles of a million-armed acupuncturist, sharp points of pain pierced me everywhere. Though it was hard to ascertain just how badly I’d been wounded, my entirety a whitewash of hurt, I knew it had to be bad.

Sometime during the conflagration, I’d fallen. I only realized it because I suddenly had a mouthful of dirt. Dizzy, unable to focus, I tried to roll over, to clear the sand from my eyes and mouth. White bolts of pain pierced me everywhere, zigzagging across my nerves. It brought tears to my eyes and forced the breath from my lungs in a pitiful gasp.

Though it hurt like nothing I’d ever felt before, I managed to flop over onto my side, panting like a dog from the effort. The world was a blur of stinging light, crashing against my vision in chaotic waves, tiny spots of bouncing darkness intermingled. My thoughts still clouded, unsure of what I was seeing, I blinked my eyes to chase away the tears and clinging dirt. It took a few moments, but my vision at last cleared.

And I instantly regretted it.

The dark spots I’d seen between the white, had been Katon. Mauled by the revenants, he was being tossed back and forth between them, each tearing away a chunk of flesh before passing him on to the next. His shredded skin hung in red, wet strips, swinging in time with his every movement. One of his eyes trailed from its socket, a gory pendulum. His left arm lay limp at his side, the bone protruding from his shoulder like a sharp spear. Half of his scalp was peeled back, the white of his skull peeking through the leaking redness.

Yet through it all, he still fought. With his sword clutched in his right hand, he struck out at every opportunity, but his blade failed to hit home. Even though he had to know the revenants were toying with him, Katon would battle to his last breath. I couldn’t let him do it alone.

I tried to get to my feet, pressing my hands beneath me to support my weight. Turned out, that wasn’t such a good idea. Ice pick pains brutalized my senses, pillaging my nerves as I crumpled into a heap of suffering. Barely able to see, let alone form a coherent thought, I looked to my hand.

Or to what was left of it.

The backfire had blown off my first three fingers. Nubs of charred blood and flesh were all that was left. My pinky remained, though it was clearly broken, pointing out at an odd angle. Only my thumb appeared relatively normal, open to the bone along the bottom, but still there, as was most of my palm.

Sickness welled up inside of me and I felt weak, my thoughts swirling as if down a drain. A pang of guilt for failing Katon fluttered against my conscience. I only had a second to think about it before the shadows poured over me, drowning me in a cold, black emptiness.

* * * *

The dark faded and all I could see was blurry white. It took a few moments of blinking my eyes to bring them into focus. A moment later I could see, and the agony returned like stars exploding against my nerves. A split-second after that, I was begging for the cold numbness to return.

“You live. Excellent.” Daartan hovered over me, his eerie smile cracking his face. In his ghostly hand was Katon’s sword.

“If you’ve hurt—”

He chuckled, setting the tip of the sword against my throat. “Oh, we’ve hurt the vampire. Hurt him near to death, no doubt.” He leaned in close, cold wisps of breath stinging my face. “He’s a spiteful beast, and as willful as any I’ve ever seen. I’ve no interest in freeing his soul only to have him seek revenge upon me, as one of my own kind. That would be unwise of me, so fear not, he lives.”

“You’ll get what’s coming to you,” I muttered through clenched teeth, my voice weak.

We both knew the threat was empty.

“Of that, I am assured.” He stepped away, waving Katon’s sword in the air with a victorious flourish. “You still claim no allegiance to Reven?”

I tried to spit at him, but I didn’t have the strength. The glob of saliva ran warm down my chin, mixing with the blood that leaked from my myriad wounds.

“No matter.” He pointed to the twitching pile of red and black that lay in the dirt. “If you wish to see your friend again, find the necromancer.”

My stomach lurched as I tried to sit up, tsunami waves of nausea and pain keeping me down. I lay on my side choking, trying not to vomit while the revenants lifted Katon’s broken body between them and drifted off toward the darkness. Daartan stared after them for a moment, then turned back to me, a crooked smile on his illuminated face. He reached down and set an ornate, silver amulet with an obsidian stone in its center, on my chest.

“Once you have Reven’s location, break the stone. I will come to you.”

“That supposed to be comforting?”

He smirked. “You remain alive only because you still have some use. Do not force me to reevaluate that presumption.” He spun the sword once more before holding it out before me, just out of reach. “Your companion knows not the value of this blade or he would not carry it about so lightly.” He ran his spectral hand along the blade, tiny droplets of light spilling from his fingers as it bit into his ghostly flesh. “Once you’ve delivered the necromancer to me, I will show you its true glory.” With a sputtering laugh, he flew off to join the rest of the knights.

As the darkness returned, the revenants’ light gone, I was alone with my agony. The zombies that had stood by peacefully had been slaughtered by Daartan and his knights. They lay about in shattered pieces, not much different than how I felt.

After giving myself a while to rest and prepare for the utter misery that lay ahead, I slipped the amulet around my neck and tried to stand. It took eight attempts, each a trial in suffering, before I managed to stay upright. Sad thing about it all, standing was the easy part.

The pitch of night stretched out before me, with only the tiny flickers of city lights way off in the distance to guide me off the ranch. Rather than worry about it—there was plenty of time ahead for that—I just walked, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. I knew if I fell I might never get back up.

Cold due to blood loss from the oozing wounds that covered my body, compounded by the desert night and the chill of my predicament, I kept warm by thinking of how Daartan would pay for what he’d done.

By the time I reached one of the intersecting highways, I was sweating, a furnace of fury burning inside.

Chapter Fifteen

Out on the road, I got lucky. A passing rancher, on his way home from a late night bender, happened to see me stumbling down the asphalt and stopped to lend a hand. Like pretty much everyone these days, besides me, he had a cell phone.

It took me a few minutes to convince him not to call 911 and to just let me use it. A good old boy, he was willing to risk going to jail for drunk driving just to get me help. I felt bad for lying to him, but it had to be done. I told him it was a couple of crooked cops who’d come after me, leaving me out there to die. If he called for an ambulance, they’d find out about it and would come looking for him and his family.

He handed the phone over in a hurry.

After contacting DRAC, I thanked him for his kindness and sent him on his way with my eternal thanks. Because of me, he’d probably never stop to help anyone ever again. That was a shame, but I was still glad for his kindness.

After what seemed like an eternity, Rahim plucked me up and whisked me back to my house for a dose of my uncle’s blood. It took a few fumbling minutes to dig out my stash and get a few drops into me, but when I felt its burning magic taking hold, I cried in ecstasy.

Under the narcotic sway of the blood, it was hard to stay focused, but I watched as it knitted my crippled hand back together. Drawing from the essence of myself, the bones of my fingers grew back first. White protrusions inched upward from the ruin of flesh, like morbid blooms, the skeleton of my hand reforming. The veins and tendons came next, weaving their complicated routes as the flesh crept behind to seal it all in. In but minutes, the nails, and even the hair, had returned, my hand just as it was before my weapon exploded. The rest of my wounds healed as well, metallic shards lay in a scattered bloody mess atop my blanket where they’d been ejected from my body.

I gave thanks to my uncle, wishing him goodwill, wherever he was. Once again, though gone, he’d saved my ass.

Afterward, we headed to DRAC. There, no trace of my wounds visible, Abraham stared at me over his cluttered desk, his eyes bulging behind his glasses.

“Are you sure it was Daartan?”

“At this point, Abe, I’m not sure about much of anything.” I shrugged, stretching my repaired hand, glad to have it back. “I’d never met the guy before, but I can’t think of a reason he’d lie about who he was? There’s not a whole bunch of folk who even know he exists, let alone have the power or interest to fake being him.”

Abraham shook his head while Rahim scowled behind him, fury engraved upon his face.

“I don’t care who he is, he has Katon. We have to go after this knight.”

While I felt the same way, I tried to calm him down. “He had the chance to kill Katon, but he didn’t.” I’d left out just how bad the revenants had hurt him, not wanting to stir the wizard up more than he already was. I also didn’t tell him about the amulet that would summon Daartan. There was no reason to waste it on an emotional suicide run. “Daartan is powerful, Rahim, and he has Katon’s sword to boot. We need some time to plan, to prepare to face him.”

Rahim was having none of it. “You two chat about what’s best, I’m going after Katon.”

While still somewhat hobbled by his injuries, they didn’t slow him down one bit. He headed for the door, driven by rage, his anger masking his pain.

“Rahim!” Abraham called after him, the slamming door drowning him out.

He sighed, taking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes. “His wounds have taken a toll on his mood,” Abraham explained, unnecessarily.

“Can’t say I blame him any. If I hadn’t seen how easily those guys took us apart, I’d be out the door with him.” I sunk into the chair, leather squeaking. “The problem is we’re way overmatched. For me, that’s business as usual. But with Katon kidnapped, Rahim still recovering and out of sorts, and Baalth about to crack up, I’m not sure we can handle this. Shit. Even Scarlett is incommunicado. We’re not exactly running on all cylinders here.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“I’m not sure, really.” I sunk further into the accommodating seat. “With Forcalor in Heaven, and out of touch, I don’t have much left in the way of friendly and powerful contacts in Hell, so I can’t go there for help.”

“What about this…Karra woman? She seems capable and strangely reluctant to do you harm. Could we use this to our advantage?”

I shrugged. “Do you really want to risk the fate of the world on my relationship with a woman?”

“Good point.” He slipped his glasses back, leaning back. “There must be something we can do.”

“I’ll be damned if I know what. Maybe Rahim will stir something up.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Abraham replied, his voice a quiet whisper as he drifted off into thought.

I stood, peeling away from the leather chair, recognizing the end of our conversation. Abraham stared off into space, barely acknowledging I’d moved.

“I’m gonna head over and ask Baalth if he knows anything useful about our White Knight buddy. Keep our folks on the cemeteries and the like, still. Reven has been losing a bunch of zombies lately, so he’s gonna need to replace them. If we can keep him from collecting the blood he needs, we might be able to delay Longinus’s resurrection until we have a better idea of what’s going on. Maybe by then, we’ll know how to stop it.”

Abraham agreed, on the phone before I’d even finished talking.

I waved and started to leave when I spied Candy’s cell phone on the desk. I snatched it up, checked to see if it still had service, then stuffed it in my pocket. With a nod to Abraham, still too distracted to notice I was there, I left. On the way out, I replaced my exploded gun at the armory, stocking up on ammunition.

Exhausted, my mind a thick sludge of coagulated thoughts, I needed something to get the blood flowing.

Since my first choice of a blowjob was probably out of the question, coffee would have to do.

Chapter Sixteen

Thanks to Baalth’s outburst, I had to take the long way around Old Town. While the fires had been put out and the asphalt roads had cooled enough to walk on, the streets were still filled with rubble and marred with giant, steaming potholes. The sidewalks were non-existent, scaled models of the Himalayas. Slabs of concrete rose at ninety degree angles in some places and sunk, close to the same, in others. Not up for a hike, I circled the neighborhood until I found the easiest access point.

Just as I’d crossed the line into ground zero, I heard a quiet voice call out from behind me. I spun around to see the daintily smiling face of Lilith.

“Hi, Frank.”

My heart pounded in my chest and at my groin, a blast-beat of raw lust.

Eschewing the dress she had on the last time I’d seen her, she wore a pair of ultra-tight jeans, which outlined everything as if they weren’t even there. It hurt to lift my eyes, but when I finally did, they got stuck at her chest. A thin, white wife-beater did absolutely nothing to hide her perfect boobs. They stood out in defiance of gravity, daring me to look away.

They knew I wouldn’t.

Caught off guard, my own pants mimicking the tightness of hers, I just stood there and stared, while visions of leather and chains danced in my head.

Lilith understood the way to a man’s heart was through his crotch. She was a sexual sniper: one shot, one kill. If my uncle’s bloodline hadn’t run so fiercely through my veins, I’d have been panting at her feet. As it was, I could have welded steel with the fire burning in my pants.

“Uh, hey.” Smooth, huh?

She stepped in real close, wisps of her black hair tickling my neck and cheek, her breasts a naughty whisper against my fluttering stomach. One of her warm hands settled on the small of my back, the skin prickling at her touch.

“I have something for you.”

And I for you. I only hoped I wouldn’t have to clean it out of my underwear before our conversation was over. “What’s that?” My voice squeaked like a schoolgirl’s.

“I know where Baalth’s pets are being held.” She brushed her lips against my chin. Tiny electric shocks reverberated downward from the touch, curling my toes and straightening everything else in between.

Two thoughts struck me right then. The first was a mental treatise in the moral and ethical dilemma of banging my uncle’s woman and ex-wife’s mother, my once mother-in-law, in the middle of the street, in broad daylight.

The second was a detailed summation of all the groovy things I could do after Baalth granted me a heaping chunk of his magic for rescuing his men.

Surprisingly, the latter won out.

Common sense and self-preservation: 1

Penis: 0

At least for today.

I took a small step back, putting some space between me and Lilith. It was hard.

Moving away was too.

She looked at me like I’d just bought American. “Are you not interested?”

Double entendre aside, I did my best to act cool; ice cubes and arctic wastelands. Given the fact my pants looked like a pup tent, it was pretty clear she had my full attention. “Of course I am.”

She inched forward again, clearly not willing to let me off the hook. “My spies witnessed the necromancer’s attack.”

My thoughts went back to the body I’d found. It was awful convenient, but it could explain why the gaunt was there. “Go on.”

She licked her red lips before she continued, making sure my eyes followed her slow-moving tongue. “Reven’s creatures fled before Baalth arrived, stealing his men away into Limbo.”

While I was grateful to know where Baalth’s goons had been taken, Lilith was far too eager to pass the information on. I played stupid.

It wasn’t that difficult.

“Limbo is a big place.”

“That’s why I prepared a transport crystal for you.” She reached into her shirt, her hand squirming its way between her breasts. I held my breath as her wife beater was pushed down to within a millimeter of baring everything, then she yanked her hand out with an exaggerated twist. She flashed me a small blue gem, her fingers gently rolling it around her palm. I’d been hoping for a different kind of flash.

Disappointed, I peeled my eyes away from her show of manual dexterity. I had to think. Here Lilith was, providing me with the location of Baalth’s captured men and the means to go straight there, all while asking for nothing in return. There had to be a catch.

I had to ask—she’d expect it. “What’s in all this for you?”

Her eyes sparkled. “The hope of good will, mostly.” A serene calmness passed over her face. “Baalth and I have been on opposite sides of the aisle for too long. Were I to take this to him, at best, he’d refuse to see me, ignoring anything I had to say. At worst, the most likely of conditions, he’d…well, let’s just leave that to your imagination.” A tinge of sadness touched her lips. “However, were you to bring his men home, putting in a good word for my part in the rescue, he might open the door to me once more.”

I weighed what she told me. It made sense, especially now that Baalth was the biggest demon on the block, but something still bothered me. I couldn’t figure out how rescuing Baalth’s guys would help to stop Longinus from being resurrected. Why would she sidetrack me“I’m assuming Reven isn’t with them?”

She shook her head. “He knows his undead minions are flawed, that they can be compromised. He keeps a line of separation when it comes to remaining secure.”

Following her line of logic, it was a trap. My only question was, for who? Did Reven know Lilith was involved and had trailed his zombies, or did he realize she was feeding me info? My brain spun in circles. There were too many possibilities.

I suck with choices.

“So, if Reven isn’t there, how does this benefit us regarding Longinus?”

She looked at me as though I were stupid. She might have been right. “He did not kidnap Baalth’s men without cause. They have become an integral part of his plan to raise my dear, Maximus.” Moisture glistened in her eyes on cue.

I wished I had a golden statue to give her. “And their part is?”

She made a show of wiping her tears. “As circumstances have robbed Reven of the means to procure blood in mass quantities, he must find an alternate way to achieve his goal. In necromancy, empowered blood is far more potent than common, human blood.” She gestured toward Old Town. “The wizard and mentalist are to be sacrificed.”

From an entirely selfish point of view, that would blow. “Are you sure they’re still alive?”

She nodded. “Unlike common blood, empowered claret must be culled fresh for it to retain its potency. He will save them until the very last moment, claiming them from Limbo to be about his task before he can be stopped. That gives you time, however little.”

I didn’t bother to ask how she knew all that. After spending years with her daughter, I’d figured out pretty quick that all succubi were fonts of obscure knowledge. They didn’t just suck away the lives of the men they fed on, they delved inside their heads. Under a succubus’s control, their lovers were pumped for information and gave it up willingly. The succubi then used that knowledge to find their next quality mark, the process repeated ad nauseam. The side effect was an insight into most anything you could think of, necromancer’s minds not withstanding, apparently.

All that still didn’t answer who the trap was being set for, but it really didn’t matter when it came down to the brass tacks of it. Lilith had no intention of going after Baalth’s men. She was setting me up to deal with whatever popped up, staying clear of the conflict no matter how it turned out. It wasn’t the best of tactical situations, but it stopped the floundering I’d been doing since being jumped by the revenants.

Speaking of the ghost-toasties, I thought about telling Lilith they’d made an appearance, but decided against it. She was already playing loose and fast with the facts, so I didn’t see the point in cluing her in. If she already knew Daartan was involved, it wouldn’t change what she was planning. If she didn’t, it sure didn’t hurt to have a surprise readily available, should it be needed.

“We have a deal,” I told her, but her eyes were locked on something behind me. I turned and followed her stare, careful not to let her out of my sight.

There in the shadows between the ruined buildings, lurking as though to avoid being be seen, was a zombie. Lilith’s eyes went wide when we heard a scuffling noise to our left. We spun in tandem to see another zombie leering at us from around the corner.

Perhaps realizing it had been seen, the zombie let loose a wailing moan before shambling forward, which was echoed by others out of sight. Lilith rammed the blue gem into my hand and darted toward the open street.

“3000 east, 200 north, from there,” she called out as she ran, pointing to where I stood.

I stuffed the gem in my pocket and drew my gun as I spied a horde of ambling undead, spilling out of the darkness and maneuvering to cut off Lilith’s retreat. Within seconds, hundreds of corpses flooded the streets, their moans filling the air with a raspy dirge.

They also filled it with funk.

With a pop, I put a bullet into the closest zombie’s head and trailed out after Lilith. Despite the tightness of her jeans, she moved like a sprinter. She was glory in motion. Her long, lithe legs stretched and coiled, her—

Grumbling, I tore my eyes off her ass and shot another zombie that stumbled up on me while I was daydreaming. Unable to keep up with Lilith’s pace, and unwilling to try, I pressed my back to a still-standing wall and eased along it to avoid running into the mass of undead gathered in the ruined streets.

I watched as Lilith drew them off one way, then bolted the opposite, slipping through their loose ranks before disappearing from view. A small chunk of zombies followed, the rest wandering slowly toward the less damaged remains of Old Town. Several passed by me, yet they didn’t so much as spare a glance even though they had to have seen me. It was a weird feeling.

For once, I wasn’t on the menu.

It didn’t feel right.

Not willing to look a gift horse in the ass, I waited until the horde wandered off a ways before I did anything. Then, as quietly as I could, I dug Candy’s cell out and put in a call to DRAC. Afterward, I trailed off behind the zombies, making sure there was plenty of space between us.

I caught up to the corpse party just beyond the ruins, the sounds of screams and breaking glass reaching me a few minutes before. Rather than bust out into the middle of something unpleasant, I crept low and peered around the corner of a building.

What I saw there was chaos.

While Baalth’s outburst had cleared a good chunk of the people out of Old Town, the majority of its residents were too poor, too stubborn, or too intoxicated in some manner to leave. That left a lot of victims still in the zombies’ path.

The undead covered the streets, milling back and forth smashing windows and knocking down doors, chasing whoever was too slow, or too stupid, to get out of the way. Mangled bodies lay on the street, blood pooling beneath them. Unidentifiable pieces lay scattered everywhere, gory landmines of ravaged flesh and bone.

I watched as several zombies tore a man apart, his limbs ripped from their sockets as he shrieked, unable to escape their grasp. It looked like cheesy spaghetti, the tendons and ligaments stretched tight, pulling away from the sockets until they snapped with a wet pop. His screams ended right after, his head drooping to his chest in death or unconsciousness.

I’m sure we were both grateful it was over.

My mind whirled as it took in the carnage. Something had changed. This was unlike any of the previous zombie attacks. There was no order to it, no purpose. It made no sense. It was pure mayhem for the sake of mayhem, nothing else.

Outnumbered, with nowhere near enough bullets to make a stand, I shimmied up a fire escape and took the high ground. While I waited for backup—unsure of who might even show up, just hoping it wasn’t Baalth—I took out a few zombies, here and there, trying to minimize the human casualties. It was a lost cause, but I had to do something.

Up above it all, the screams of the dying ringing in my ears, unsure of who was telling the truth and who was pulling my strings, I knew only one thing with certainty.

For the horror going on below me, I was gonna put a bullet in Reven’s head.

Chapter Seventeen

Rahim arrived in a mood.

It wasn’t a good one.

Without so much as a hello, he came and stood beside me, staring at the mess the zombies were making.

“What set them off?”

“Not sure. I was chatting up a source when they snuck up on us. They went after my informant, but they didn’t seem interested in me, at all. After she got away, they started terrorizing the place.”

“She?”

Whoops. Rahim knew never to trust my judgment when it came to women, so it didn’t surprise me he’d caught my slip.

“Uh, yeah.”

He shook his head, his eyes narrowing into slits as he met my gaze. “Your informant didn’t have anything to do with Katon’s kidnapping?”

“Not that I know of.” I couldn’t lie and give him a definitive no. I really didn’t know, but I didn’t think so. “We were following Li’s psychic impressions of Chatterbox and ended up at the ranch where we were attacked.” I shrugged, his question telling me he still didn’t know Katon’s whereabouts. That made two of us. At least it kept Rahim from getting killed.

He glared at me, his eyes filled with anger and frustration and a whole bunch of worry. “Did your source give you anything of value?”

“Not about Katon.” He appeared to deflate, looking back to the zombies. “She did give me a possible lead on Reven, though. Once I catch that bastard, I’ll be hanging him out for bait, you can be sure of that.”

He nodded and left it at that. “Let’s clean this mess up.”

“Mind some help?” a quiet, feminine voice asked.

Rahim and I spun around in surprised unison. Near the stairwell, a respectable distance away, stood Veronica. She’d gotten sneaky. Her empty hands were held out before her to show she meant no harm.

I could sense the added tension in Rahim at her arrival, see it in his stance, but there wasn’t any in his deep voice. “Certainly.”

He knew about our relationship, saw some of it first hand, and had never approved. He did understand though.

There’s not a man alive, especially one with all his parts working, who couldn’t find a reason to fall in love with Veronica, and the wizard was no different.

He just knew better.

Lithe yet curvy, intelligent and fiery, she was a prize few could resist. However, underneath the flawless beauty and fuck-me-eyes, there was a ravaged battlefield of conflicting personalities. The part of Veronica who was compassionate and caring warred with what her mother made her: selfish and cruel, cold. Far too often, her mother’s creation won out. That was who Rahim saw when he looked at her.

Sadly, that was all I could see now, as well.

I waved her over. “Baalth?”

“He thought it best to let you handle things.” She smiled oddly, but there didn’t seem to be any rancor in her voice.

Before I could say anything else, Rahim called for our attention with an impatient grunt. “Hold on.”

There was a slight tension, which settled over us, as Rahim summoned his energies, the air thick with power. A moment later a breeze built up, swirling around our feet and picking up speed. Within seconds, gale-force winds whirled around us and lifted us off the roof. Surprisingly gentle, we were carried over the edge of the building and deposited on the street, floors below. The winds died the moment we touched down.

Not bothering to wait on us, Rahim strode toward the shambling zombies, loosing red bolts of magical energy. One after another, zombies were burned to ash, searing black, then crumbling into gray puffs of dust.

Veronica and I followed on opposite sides, taking down what few undead he’d missed. There weren’t many.

After about twenty minutes, the streets were cleared of animated corpses. Rahim turned to me. He was out of breath, shaking, though he tried to hide it.

“I must return to my search.” He looked like he needed to return to bed. “Contact me if your informant’s lead pans out. I could stomach a good fishing trip.” He grinned at me, and for an instant, he looked like the big, badass wizard I remembered.

It didn’t last long, though. As he summoned his energies to teleport, the weariness crept back onto his face, his eyes nearly closed. He gave a curt wave of thanks to Veronica and disappeared in wash of energy.

“He doesn’t look so good,” she stated the obvious once he’d gone.

“He’s just a little overworked, is all.” I started to answer honestly, but the cynic in me talked me out of it. Veronica worked for Baalth. It didn’t matter that old grumpy and I had a tentative peace accord. In the end, Baalth was all about himself. His people could only be trusted to do what was best for Baalth. As such, I didn’t see any point in letting the demon know more than he could figure out on his own.

Veronica sighed, no doubt realizing what I was thinking. “I heard you tell the wizard you had a lead on our guys.”

I nodded.

“I’d like to come along.” She stared at me like she expected me to say no.

I thought about it, but I knew I could use the help. Without a doubt, I’d exhausted my ‘get out of death’ cards with Karra. If I screwed up her master’s plans again, she wouldn’t have a choice but to kill me. Shit, I wouldn’t even blame her. Given how fast she was, I might not have a chance to summon Daartan to interrupt my dying. Veronica being there might give me the needed few seconds to pull something good out of my ass, as opposed to what comes out of it normally.

Then there was that whole mess. I had no clue what Daartan was getting out of any of this. No longer bound to God’s will, the knight was free to pursue his own agenda. It was possible he was still toeing the party line, but I had no idea of knowing what his motivations really were. He hadn’t hesitated to come after Reven, that’s for sure. And based on how enthusiastically he’d whipped up on me and Katon, I wasn’t expecting a thank you card for my efforts.

“It’ll be dangerous.”

A slight smile graced her lips. “It always is with you.”

Unable to argue, I just shrugged. “Then we’re off to find the three less-than-wise-men.”

Returning to the spot where Lilith and I had come across the ambushing zombies, I plucked the gem from my pocket and crushed it in my hand. It collapsed with a hollow pop, while wisps of frigid, planar cold stung my skin. Opening my hand, palm up, I blew hard on the powdered shards. They leapt like snowflakes into the air, sparkles of shimmering light erupting into life.

Just a few feet away, the whirling sparkles coalesced, growing in intensity, the glow almost blinding. A moment later, the glow dimmed, a shimmering blue portal of mystical energy hovered before us.

I beckoned toward the gateway. “Ladies first.”

Veronica rolled her eyes, drew her blades, and stomped through with a huff.

It wasn’t that I was scared, or anything, I just wanted a good look at her ass.

Though we were headed into Limbo, it sure looked like Heaven from here.

Chapter Eighteen

As I exited the other side of the portal, I bumped into Veronica. She stood there stiff, staring off wide-eyed.

“Limbo?” she asked in a hushed voice. She continued before I could answer. “That explains why I couldn’t track the guys.” She got quiet, perhaps realizing she’d given something away.

I acted like I hadn’t noticed, though I filed the info away, for later use. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been here.” It didn’t look like it’d changed much. Not that I would have expected it to.

Unlike the other planes, which had a defined solidness about them, a sense of realness, Limbo had none of that. Never intended as anything more than a temporary way station for the spirits of the dead awaiting their final judgment, there wasn’t much effort put into its creation. A small portion of it later became the burial ground of the Anti-Christs, but cut off from the rest of Limbo, it might as well have been its own plane of existence.

Dull and dreary, Limbo was a wasteland of shifting gray nothingness. There were no fixed landmarks or structures, no shelters or defining characteristics. It was all the same; one big hazy soup of dull mist. Visibility was limited to about twelve feet, give or take, in every direction. Not that there was anything to see.

The only way to estimate your location was to affix a starting point in the real world and keep track of the distance from there. The system left a lot to be desired. Though in retrospect, given that Limbo wasn’t designed to be visited by the living, any method of navigation was better than none. You sure as shit didn’t want to get trapped here, dead or alive.

I passed the directions Lilith gave me on to Veronica and headed off into the murk, my gun settled in a sweaty hand. She matched my pace, eyes on the fog. There was a wary tenseness in her stride. She expected the worst.

To be honest, so did I; past experiences and all.

I was a little nervous about leaving the portal behind, undefended, but it’s not like I had options. The good thing was, while the doorway would stay put, it couldn’t be used by anyone else until the person who opened it had gone through; me. That meant it’d be there when I got back, if I made it back.

Now, all I had to worry about was what might be waiting for us when we returned to it. The gateway would be a shining lighthouse on a hill to the trapped spirits looking to escape the murky confines of Limbo. That could make for a fun return trip.

No sense worrying about that now, I pushed those thoughts to the back of my mind and continued on. Our passage stirred the mist, whiffs of fluttering gray billowing up from beneath our feet. Though we made no noise, the shifting fog would be a spotlight, alerting anyone watching of our presence. It made it hard to relax as I counted off paces, my brain imagining all sorts of unpleasantness waiting for us just out of sight.

Much to my surprise and contrary to the luck exhibited pretty much every other day of my existence, nothing leapt out of the fog as we neared the end of the paces.

That only made me more nervous.

In my life, it wasn’t often things worked out the way they were supposed to. Ever since my uncle left, the deck had been stacked against me. It was some kind of karmic retribution for all the shit I’d gotten away with when he was around, I imagine. Usually, if things went my way, it meant an even bigger pile of crap was waiting to be stepped in around the bend, little, undigested corn bits and all.

Have I mentioned I’m a bit cynical?

Prepared to be disappointed, Veronica and I hit the last twenty feet of the count. Signaling for her to stop a few paces after that, I ejected a cartridge from one my extra clips and hid it in the clouds at my feet. Forged in the blood of an angel and demon, the shell contained just enough of a magical trace for me to pick it out with my senses. Distinctive enough to for me to find it again, yet weak enough to not draw too much attention, it’d give me a starting point to backtrack to the portal.

As ready as I could be, I waved Veronica forward and ducked low to take the last few steps all at once. Just as we passed the count, dark lumps started to take shape ahead of us, seemingly huddled on the ground.

Veronica slipped right while I went left, each of us staying close enough to be seen. As we circled, the shapes became easier to see, the effect of the fog lessening with the distance.

There on the ground, in a pile of duct-taped limbs, were Baalth’s men. Apparently unconscious, all three of them sat in a triangle with their backs propped against one another while their heads drooped. The gentle movement of their chests, as they breathed, and the low rumbling of Marcus’s snores, made it clear they were still alive. On one hand, it was kind of a letdown.

While a certain part of me rejoiced at seeing them all trussed-up and vulnerable, just waiting for a bullet to put them out of their misery, a more sensible part reminded me of Baalth’s deal. I was horribly conflicted. For once, they were worth more to me alive than they were dead.

Isn’t life funny?

I growled to myself and scanned the fog. Unable to see anything resembling an obvious trap, as if I would, I reluctantly crept forward. If there was something out there waiting, I was just gonna have to oblige it. Nothing else I could do.

Veronica seemed to agree. She circled the perimeter, urging me on with a nod.

My heart beat a double-bass solo in my chest as I neared the trio. Nothing in their postures made me think they even knew I was there. The steady whistle of their breath never altered, their lowered faces remaining limp and unresponsive. It was eerie. Though bound by shit-ton of tape, I felt uncomfortable being this close to three guys who, at one time or another had all tried to kill me. Given their tied up circumstances, I couldn’t imagine they’d be happy to see me when they regained consciousness.

I veered around to Poe. Of the three, he’d be the least likely to react poorly when I woke him. At least I hoped he would be. I took a second to look him over before I did anythingHe appeared exhausted, his face lined, but none the worse for wear. I didn’t see any wounds or obvious injuries, but that didn’t really mean much. If Karra put them down with her swords, there wouldn’t be much in the way of evidence. All it took was a scratch from her weapons to lay an elephant out. A tiny shiver ran up my spine at the thought.

Chilled by the idea she might be lurking in the fog, pissed off and ready to kick my ass, I stopped hesitating and got on with it.

With the barrel of my gun, I poked Poe in the chest. He awoke with a start, his icy eyes wide. He stiffened under the grip of the tape, then suddenly relaxed as his eyes met mine.

“Mister Trigg?” His face slipped into its normal mask of controlled indifference. “Pardon my impertinence, it’s not that I’m ungrateful, I just can’t picture you in the role of savior.”

“Don’t let it get to you, Poe, I’m on the clock. Baalth wants you boys brought home.”

He nodded, a flicker of relief coloring his face.

I felt a little better as I squatted down and went to work on the tape, nothing having jumped out and bit us yet. Veronica stood watch, just in case.

“What happened?” I asked the mentalist, making small talk while I pried him loose.

Poe stretched his newly freed arms, rubbing at them to return the circulation, while I moved around to release the other two flunkies.

His hands moved to his temples, massaging them. “We’d just reached Old Town when a mass of ghouls ambushed us. We managed to get a call out to Baalth right before we were suddenly attacked from behind by Reven’s enforcer. Caught off guard, I believe we were knocked unconscious, awakening right now, apparently. I don’t recall anything after the ambush.”

“She didn’t use her blades?” Paranoid by nature, my gut tightened into a knot.

“She may have. It all happened so fast, I’m not entirely sure.”

I stopped loosening the tape and turned my head to stare at Poe. He stared back, the dark bags under his eyes made pits of them. His leathery face was calm and cool as he got to his feet. There wasn’t anything in his manner that made me think he was lying, but something felt weird.

I glanced back at McConnell and Marcus and noticed their eyes were underlined in black circles, as well; their faces taught, tight. They looked a hell of a lot better than the last time I’d seen them, but they still looked drained. That’s when the lights clicked on. All their wounds were healed.

“Veronica!” I screeched as I got to my feet and tried to back away.

I didn’t get far.

In a blur of motion that shredded the remaining tape, one of Marcus’s massive fists crashed into the left side of my face. A maelstrom of bright dots exploded in front of my eyes and I felt my legs go rubbery and give way. I hit the ground hard, my head spinning with the impact while sucking in a lungful of smoky nothingness.

You’d figure clouds would be softer and taste a little better.

No stranger to being hit, instinct took over. I rolled to my feet and raised my .45. My vision cleared as I settled into a defensive posture.

I really didn’t like what I saw.

Not five feet away stood Marcus, defined by the gun he was pointing at my face. It was the one he’d stolen from me not too long ago. Loaded with angel/demon slaying bullets, the barrel-end wasn’t the side I wanted to be on. With God and Lucifer on hiatus, death had become a permanent condition. One I hoped to avoid.

Marcus, on the other hand, was all for putting me in a hole. He didn’t hesitate to put the gun to use. I saw the muzzle flash as I dove into the fog. The sudden, searing agony that lit up my side told me I hadn’t been fast enough.

Once more I hit the ground, pain shooting down my leg and across my chest in nerve-shattering waves, my stomach roiling. I fought down the nausea and used my momentum to carry me over into a crouch, bringing my gun up as I did.

Through clenched teeth and watery eyes, I realized it was too late. Marcus had followed me. He stood in front of me, the deadly abyss of his gun barrel just inches from the bridge of my nose. I closed my eyes.

I could handle dying if that’s what it came down to, but knowing it was Marcus who‘d be hammering in the last nail was a serious kick in the balls. As if realizing what I was thinking, he chuckled low in his throat, no doubt savoring the moment.

Hunkering down, I heard the creak of his knuckle as he squeezed the trigger just before the discharge silenced the world. A wave of blistering heat smacked me in the face and I tumbled back, clutching to my head. My skull throbbed, a thunderstorm of hurt. A warm wetness oozed across my palm and down my arm as I writhed in pain, sinking into the fog of Limbo. A cold blackness settled in.

“Frank!”

I heard my name called from a distance, muddied and shrill. It took me a second, but I recognized the voice. It was Veronica. I tried to answer, but the darkness, eager to drag me down, filled my mouth, choking me.

She cried out again. Desperation colored her voice. There was something else there as well, something sharp and acidic; angry.

Suddenly a burning pain exploded in my shin. My eyes snapped open to see my ex-wife standing over me, drawing back her foot to kick me again. Fury scarred her beautiful face. Marcus was nowhere to be seen.

“Get the fuck up, asshole. I need you.” She leapt away at the crack of gunfire, bullets whistling past.

Staying down, using the fog as cover, I felt my head and realized rather sheepishly that Marcus had only grazed my skull. But add that to the seeping wound in my side, I was lucky to be alive. With an eye on remaining so, I scanned the shifting clouds to find where the last batch of gunfire had come from. The third time wouldn’t be a charm.

At the edge of my vision was Poe, the haze parting before him as he advanced. Calm and cool, he tracked Veronica, looking for a clean shot. She did her damndest to not give it to him.

Off to my left, pulling himself up from the murky fog was Marcus. His back was stained in red, leaking steadily from the deep gouge between his shoulder blades. I understood then how the bastard missed. Veronica had saved me. The realization warmed my crotch and made me sick to my stomach at the same time. She’d gone against Baalth, risking Marcus’s life to rescue me. The possible consequences for that were unimaginable, though we both knew it’d be horrific. Despite it all, she did it anyway.

If we survived, she was never gonna let me live that down.

With no time to worry about it, I went after Marcus, doing my best to ignore the screaming agony in my side. He’d gotten to his feet and zoned back in one me, his face a mass of twisted snarls. He lost his gun when Veronica hit him, so I didn’t have to worry about him shooting me. Sad part was, even though I still had mine, I couldn’t shoot him either. Marcus didn’t seem to care one way or the other.

As we barreled toward each other, his head down like a charging bull. I readied to meet him, calling out to Veronica, “Go after Poe, but don’t kill him.”

I heard her curse-laden response from somewhere in the fog, answered by a gunshot, just as Marcus hovered over me. No time to explain further, I ducked under his bulk and used his momentum against him. I grabbed one of his grasping arms and twisted it to toss him, spinning him about in midair. He flew past and landed hard on his back. The air was knocked from his lungs in a whistled grunt.

He was already scrambling to his feet when I went after him. “They’re being controlled. You can’t kill them!” I shouted out again, making sure Veronica understood what we were dealing with.

While I couldn’t put a bullet in Marcus, nothing stopped me from using my gun. As he struggled to get to his feet, I slammed the butt of my .45 into his temple, the sound like cracking a side of beef with a baseball bat.

He groaned and rolled with the blow, getting to his knees, but I could see by his eyes swimming in their dark sockets. I’d gotten him good. It didn’t matter though. Marcus was as tough as they come and all it’d take for him to recover was a second. I didn’t give it to him.

I followed up with a left hook, my fist crashing into his jaw and snapping his head to the side. He fell back, bloody spittle spraying from his mouth like a sprinkler. Before he even hit the ground, I was on top of him.

Once more I put my gun to use, smashing its chromed surface across the side of his head. He bucked underneath me, stunned, but unwilling to concede. So with growing satisfaction, I struck him again, and again, and again, each blow resounding against his skull like a thumped watermelon. He fought back with everything he had, but blow after blow I beat the fight out of him. Just when I thought I’d have to kill him to keep him down, he went limp beneath me. I gave him one more for good measure and stood up off him.

His face was a puddle of crimson, blood streaming from his head and pooling in his eye sockets, nose, and mouth. His ragged breath came out in wet gasps, tiny bubbles forming at his nose. Not wanting him to drown in his own blood, no matter how satisfying it might be to watch it happen, I rolled him to his side. His labored breathing eased as a river of red ran free from his mouth.

Satisfied he wasn’t getting up anytime soon, I looked for Veronica. I spotted her standing over the crumpled form of Poe, her sword in her hand. My stomach convulsed as I ran over, dropping down beside him to feel for a pulse.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t kill him,” she told me as the subtle thump of his heart confirmed her words.

Relieved, I stood, giving her a grateful smile. She didn’t return it.

She bent down, turning Poe’s washed-out face to me. “Do you see this? They’re under the control of a succubus. What aren’t you telling me, Frank?”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head over that none, sweetheart,” a voice behind us said, the grating southern twang giving away the man’s identity before we’d even turned to face him.

Ten feet from us stood Henry McConnell, The Gray. A crooked smile shone on his creased face. “You ain’t gonna be alive long enough for it t’matter.”

Gray sparks exploded in circles around McConnell’s hands as his magic flared to life. The shimmering glow engulfed his fists, the energy in the air building. My senses screamed as they felt his power amping up. He was playing for keeps, looking to put us out to pasture.

Inconvenient and unwelcome as it was, a spark of chivalry flickered to life somewhere inside me, overwhelming my self-preservation. I shoved Veronica aside, hoping to at least save her, and turned my gun on the wizard. He raised his arm at the same time. It was gonna be close.

Before I could pull the trigger, I saw his power flicker, sputter incandescence, then die. McConnell’s face went slack. His eyes wide, he stared off at nothing for a moment, twitched like his wiring was crossed, and then collapsed into a heap.

My heart in my throat, my balls reluctant to leave the safety of my ass, I ran over to him. He was still alive, but his breathing was shallow. Not taking any chances, I tore his shirt off and used it to bind his arms behind him. Once he was secure, I looked him over.

There was a dark stain spreading across the bandages at his stomach. Apparently, Lilith’s power to rejuvenate her minions had its limits. The wound Karra gave him had torn open, the stitches ripping free. Still seriously hurt despite DRAC’s best efforts, his body weakened from the abuse of Lilith’s control, his attempt to cast magic had been too much for it to handle.

Now it seemed I owed another woman for saving my life today, however indirectly. It was a good thing I didn’t have any pride left.

Over my shoulder Veronica growled. “Tell me what’s going on, Triggaltheron.”

She used my proper name, setting the hairs on the back of my neck on edge. She knew how much I hated it. She also knew it’d get my attention.

The cat out of the bag, there was no point in dancing around the truth. “Lilith told me where I could find the guys.”

Her eyes narrowed to slits, their cold blue piercing. “My mother was your informant? And you trusted her?”

I waggled my finger. “I never said I trusted her, but hers was the only lead I had.”

Veronica started to pace. “Damn it, Frank. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Maybe you’ve forgotten, but we’re not exactly playing for the same team.” I could tell that hurt her, her lower lip inching out. She’d have to get over it. I wasn’t in the mood to baby her feelings. “I’ve been chasing my tail since the start, and while I know I’m being used by everyone to muddy the waters, I’m here to end it.” I gestured to Poe. “Your mother may have just given me the means to do so.”

Veronica glared at me, unwilling to let it go. After a drawn out moment of silence, she relented. “How?”

“You said you couldn’t track into Limbo, is that right?”

She sighed, nodding meekly.

“I presume that applies to Lilith as well?”

Again she nodded.

“So that means she has no idea whether her trap has worked.”

“So?” she shrugged. “She’ll know the minute you pop up alive that you’re on to her. She’ll just come after you herself.”

I grinned big. “I’m counting on it.”

Veronica looked at me as though I was crazy. She was probably right.

“Until then, I’ve got a few minutes to stack the deck in my favor.” I looked at her with puppy dog eyes.

Her hands on her hips, Veronica huffed, reading my expression as if my thoughts were printed on my face. “What do you need from me?”

“Information first.” She cringed. “Since you didn’t know Lilith was involved, or that she was even in the area, is it safe to assume succubi can’t track one another?”

She surprised me by not holding back. “No, we can’t.”

Nodding, I pointed to the battered trio. “What about them? Can you do anything to straighten their heads out?”

Veronica shook her head. “My mother’s influence is much stronger than mine. I could put the hooks in, but they would still follow whatever directives she put in place, overruling mine. Baalth could free them, though.”

Satisfied with that answer, I went on. “One last question: I know you can’t possess me, and I presume that applies to all demons and angels, but are there other beings you can’t assume control over?”

A confident smile, bordering on arrogance, illuminated her full lips. “Outside of the most powerful of supernatural bloodlines, if they have sentience, I can make them dance.”

That’s what I wanted to hear. “Good. Now here’s what I need you to do.”

Chapter Nineteen

“I don’t care what you say, I’m not kissing that!” Veronica’s lips were screwed into a tight pucker of disgust, her hands planted on her hips.

“But he knows where Reven is.” I held up Chatterbox, whose petulant smile ran from ear to ear. The fact that most of his cheeks had rotted away helped, but he was no doubt just as interested in Veronica’s kiss as she was in avoiding his.

“Kiiissssyyyppooo, poooooo, kiiiiiiisssssss,” he muttered, his tongue lolling.

“It’s bad enough I had to carry it here, but if you think I’m putting my mouth anywhere near that thing, you can go fuck a dread fiend. Now, get that nasty—”

Baalth growled, his voice like two tectonic plates colliding. “Do it.”

She snarled and met the demon’s turbulent eyes. The rumbling aftershock of his anger quelled her revolt in an instant. Head hung low, she turned back to me.

“Are you sure he knows?”

I held Chatterbox out to her. “He’s still animated, which means the link to his master is still active. He might not know where he is on a conscious level, but he feels the pull of Reven’s will, and that’ll lead us right to our missing necro.”

Veronica rocked back and forth, mustering the fortitude to follow Baalth’s order. She didn’t want to do it, and while I certainly understood why, we weren’t sitting on a font of options. If we were gonna find Reven in time to keep Longinus from being raised, we needed to get on it. There wasn’t time for her squeamish reluctance. I gave her a stern look and wiggled Chatterbox in front of her.

Her cheeks flushed bright red as she roughly snatched the gibbering head from my hands. “You so fucking owe me for this.”

“Don’t fool yourself. This doesn’t even come close to making us even.” I met her graveyard stare with one of my own. Backed up by Baalth, I was feeling bold. I’d have to watch my back later, but right then, I was King of the World. The best part was she knew it, too.

Muttering something guttural behind clenched teeth, she broke off the staring match, her gaze drifting down to Chatterbox. The red drained from her cheeks a second later, a subtle green tinge replacing it. Not much for romance, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes and dove in.

There was a soft squish as Veronica’s mouth collided with the head’s and I saw her tense up, no doubt fighting the instinct to vomit. I could see Chatterbox’s eyes light up, his flickering tongue visible through the holes in his decayed cheek. It looked like an epileptic caterpillar, twitching back and forth, burrowing deep into Veronica’s mouth. He was getting his undead groove on.

Behind us, I heard a moist splash and looked up to see the battered Marcus bent over double, spewing into the clouds. Freed from Lilith’s hold by Baalth’s brute force, magical reorientation, compounded by my not-so-gentle rearrangement of his face, I was surprised he was even conscious, let alone able to stand and realize what was going on. It gave me a newfound respect for his endurance, even if I could never respect him as a man. He was one tough bastard.

For that matter, they all were. Beside him, barely able to stand, but doing it nevertheless, was McConnell, torn stitches and all. His shaggy head was turned to the side and he stared off into the fog, not interested in following Marcus’s vomitory lead. Of the three, only Poe held his ground steady. His face was a mask of cold indifference, though even he seemed to look without seeing, his eyes glazed and unfocused.

I’m not sure what that says about me, but I was all about watching. I can’t say it turned me on, even as depraved as I am, but somewhere deep down, somewhere dark and vindictive, a part of me cheered like I’d won the lottery. It was a petty part, but I’m at peace with my faults.

My amused attention returned to the show just in time to see Chatterbox’s eyes go dim, the remaining leathery flesh on his face pulling tight as Veronica fed on his energy. His tongue waggled to a stop and withdrew into his cavernous mouth, as she asserted her will.

The contest over, Veronica pulled away with a gasp, dropping the head into the clouds as she stumbled back. A moment later, she too christened the roiling fog with vomit. Sepulchral heaves rattled her ribs as she retched, her body wracked with trembling spasms. It wasn’t pretty.

With surprising restraint considering his recent mood, Baalth stood there quiet as she emptied her gut, his hands clenched into tight fists. Agitated sparkles of energy fluttered around them, like lightning bugs after a summer storm, but there was no other sign of his displeasure. A few moments later, Veronica still struggling to regain control, he at last turned his searing gaze to me.

“As promised, our pact is fulfilled.”

With a snap of his fingers a contract appeared, floating in the air before us. I had just long enough to recognize the mark at the bottom of it before it burst into reddish flames. Within seconds it was nothing more than willowy ash, fluttering down in wispy spirals of black and gray. However dramatic it sounds, I felt a weight lifted from my shoulders.

“Now, for the rest of our arrangement—” He reached a hand out to me, his palm glowing scarlet.

I took a quick step back, avoiding it. “Hold on a second.”

His lip curled into a sneer and I felt the ground beneath me sway. The look in his dark eyes was murderous. He leaned in close, roaring, “You dare—”

“No, no, no. It’s not like that.” I waved my hands frantically to keep him from killing me before I could explain. “It’s just if I walk out of here stronger than when I came in, Lilith will know something is up.”He glared at me for a moment before his features softened, the fury in his eyes abating. His upper lip quivered for a heartbeat longer, before settling into a mirthless grin. His anger in check, he nodded for me to continue.

I did, as quickly as I could get the words out. “For whatever reason, she wants me dead. She’s already set me up twice and I’ve managed to walk away both times. I’m hoping she’ll be so pissed off when I reappear this time she’ll want to do the job herself. But if I pop up on her senses glowing like a Christmas tree, she’s gonna know better than to come after me. I need her to think she’s still got the upper hand.”

Baalth stared at me for a moment longer, pondering what I’d told him. Then suddenly, his eyes lit up and a crooked smile flattered his lips. “I’ve a solution that suits both our needs.”

He held his glowing hand out, the building energy shimmering as though it were alive. It danced and swirled about his palm, pulling together into a dense mass, roughly the size of a baseball. As it pulsed and throbbed, it cast off tiny red sparks, its mass condensing more every second until it was no larger than a pencil eraser. Shrunk down, he passed it to me.

A bit hesitant to take it, torn between the need to trick Lilith into coming after me and the desire for power, I gave in to the latter.

Greed is an amazing motivator. I’d never have another opportunity like this one. It was the quintessential offer I couldn’t refuse.

Its magical warmth caressed my hand as the tiny ball settled in my palm. I just stared at it for a moment, its power slapping against my senses like storm-driven waves against a tide wall. Baalth had told me he’d pass on a portion of his power, but I’d expected it to be a trifling amount, never thinking he’d be too generous. Given our history of butting heads, he surprised me.

Contained inside the tiny sphere was more mystical energy than I could have imagined possessing, at least in any realistic way since I’d turned down my uncle’s offer of Anti-Christ. It wasn’t enough to tip the balance in any sort of cosmic way, and it definitely wasn’t anything compared to what Baalth still held, but it would be one hell of a boost; a satisfying one, for sure.

Now, with it in my grasp, I began to second guess my plan, wondering what I could do to Lilith with my newfound magic. Images filled my head of the potential carnage I could wreak upon her, the ruin I could bring to the backstabber who’d betrayed my uncle and who’d set me up to die. There was no bottom to the well of inventive agonies my sudden inheritance inspired. Baalth, however, apparently not interested in letting me revel in the moment, yanked me from my delusional tangent with a perverse command.

“Swallow it.”

Sudden flashbacks of prison assailed me. “Woah there, buddy. I’m all for helping a guy out, in times of need, but I have to draw the line somewhere.”

He was not amused. Limbo seemed to teeter, the clouds almost frantic, feeding off his agitation. “Until you ingest it, it’s nothing more than an extension of my power.” He grabbed my shoulder in a painful vise and pulled me in close, our noses nearly touching. His breath was hot and musky. “Once in your possession, inside you, I am freed of its burden. Now swallow it before I find a more creative way of honoring our bargain.”

Cursed with a vivid imagination, I took the first option. Head tilted back, I tossed it in my mouth and swallowed my reluctance along with the sphere. It tickled as it slid down my throat, fleeting electrical sparks striking off in its wake, goose bumps exploding across my arms. I felt it hit my stomach with a heavy thump, lighting it up like an overdose of orange juice and napalm, before calming a few seconds later.

The unexpected side effect of ingesting such a powerful dose of pure magical energy was that my wounds began to heal. I stared in surprise at my injured side as the flesh rippled and began to pull together, the same happening to the gash along my skull. It wasn’t anywhere near as fast a process that occurred under the influence of my uncle’s blood, but it was still amazing it happened at all outside of a soul transfer. Until then, only God and Lucifer had had the mastery to work such a miracle as true healing. The realization that Baalth could now be counted among their number was terrifying.

Feeling a little weird about the whole experience, rattled by my comprehension of Baalth’s power, I looked at him and tried to smile. “Sorry. I’m not usually on the receiving end, know what I mean?”

He shook his head, dismissing me, but I could see the relief in his weary eyes. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs before letting it out slowly. Then suddenly, without warning, he winced, his jaw clenching for just a second. The tenseness faded so fast I wasn’t sure I’d seen it at all, his manner remaining composed.

“Damn it,” he whispered, his voice fading off like distant thunder.

Apparently the transfer hadn’t been enough. Though his face no longer showed any expression, no sign of his torment, his plan to bleed off his excess power had obviously failed. Even with my senses reined in and tucked tight, Baalth’s aura still glowed like a fiery sun, way too close to going supernova. I hadn’t expected a major change in his magical presence, but I figured there’d be some discernable difference. There wasn’t any. The realization sent a chill down my spine. He was still the only god left among men.

I thought about offering to take a little more power off his hands, but I didn’t think he’d respond too kindly of the suggestion. Our first deal was born of necessity, desperation even, but things had changed. In an unguarded moment he’d shown weakness, letting me see the truth of his condition. Though he made good on his word, he would never let me capitalize on his vulnerability again.

You don’t get to the top of the demonic food chain by empowering your enemies, and that’s all we were. No matter how chummy we could be on occasion, how interdependent we seemed, we each knew our place. Mine wasn’t to ask for anything not freely given.

Besides, I wasn’t even sure I could handle all the power I’d been gifted, let alone more. I didn’t have any interest in ending up like Baalth; a bubbling volcano on the verge of a major eruption. Though things didn’t turn out as planned, we’d both have to settle for the cards dealt. All-in-all, I got the better hand, but it wouldn’t mean much if Baalth couldn’t contain the power eating away at him. It also wouldn’t mean anything if Lilith could sense the magic nestled in my gut.

“I know this is probably a bad time to ask, but will Lilith be able to detect this?” I rubbed my stomach, not quite comfortable with the warm, leaden lump buried inside it.

Listless, Baalth muttered a quiet no. “Though excised from me, it has yet to be absorbed. It will remain inside you until such time as you willfully accept it.” He lifted his eyes to meet mine, a somber reticence swirling in them. “Be warned, however, the experience is…overwhelming.”

As I’d been through a couple of soul transfers, I had a vague idea of what he meant. I’d also watched as Baalth absorbed Glorius’s grossly inflated power, its grandeur bringing even him to his knees. Though I doubted the feelings could ever compare to that, all things considered, the scale was still relative. It was gonna knock me on my ass.

I nodded to Baalth, thanking him.

He waved it off. “Despite our obligations being concluded, I presume you will continue in your hunt for the necromancer, to satisfy your keepers at DRAC?”

While I didn’t like the way he phrased it, he knew Abraham would keep me working toward his best interest because it was DRAC’s as well. He just wouldn’t have to pay me for it. I sighed and confirmed it. No sense lying to either of us.

“Veronica will go with you, of course, but Poe will accompany you as well.” He motioned them over, Veronica wiping incessantly at her mouth while Poe politely ignored her doing so.

I knew I’d have to put up with the ex—after the kiss, that was gonna be a real pleasant experience—but I hadn’t counted on Baalth’s mentalist tagging along. Capable of keeping in contact with both Veronica and Baalth, at all times, I wasn’t sure if having him there was gonna be a benefit or liability. I did know it wasn’t being done to make things easier for me. It never was. But it was okay. DRAC had its own telepaths.

“Fine,” I agreed. “I figure you’ll be easy enough to reach, should you be needed?” While a bit childish of me, I didn’t want Baalth to think he’d slipped something by.

He chuckled, looking almost like his usual self. “I’ve masked Poe so Lilith cannot detect his energies.” He gestured toward his other two goons, and in whirl of darkness, they disappeared. He looked back to me with eyes a blazing. “Should Lilith come to harm during your mission, I would be most appreciative.” With that, he too vanished in a cloud of inky black vapors, the subtle tang of brimstone tickling my nose.

Suddenly feeling the withering glare that prickled my spine, I looked to Veronica, her blue eyes icy. The vein at her temple danced to the beat of angry drums. She was pissed. Out of reflex, I tried to deflect.

“Hey, I’m not the one who made you do it.”

“You might as well have,” she spit back. “I don’t know why Baalth caters to you, but one of these days your preferential treatment is going to come to an end. When it does, I’m going to put my foot so far up your ass you’ll be able to taste my knee.”

Painful visual aside, she was handling it all better than I thought she would. Rather than risk aggravating her further, knowing damn well she’d make good on her promise, I chose the better part of valor and kept my big mouth shut.

I picked Chatterbox from out of the fog and lifted him up where he could see. His squirmy eyes were glazed, subdued, and they tracked on Veronica like a lovelorn puppy. He was quiet and pensive, nothing like himself. I didn’t like it. There’d be no metal serenades today.

Maybe when everything was said and done, I’d get my singing buddy back. Of course, considering what I had in mind to do next, I might not have to worry about that. I might be dead.

Rather than dwell on the grim likelihood of my future, I went to work. “You passed on my message exactly as I gave it to you?”

“Of course,” she huffed.

“Good. Then let’s get going.”

Veronica glared at me a moment, then shifted her gaze to Chatterbox. Her repulsion colored her face, seeping out like mercury in her voice. “Lead us to Reven.”

“Folllllloooooowww meeeeeeeee, meeeeee, eeeeee,” he answered immediately. Though incapable of independent movement, the whole lacking a body thing, he made it clear which way we needed to go. His slippery tongue jetted from his mouth and wiggled in the direction of the portal we’d used to enter Limbo.

At the sight of it, Veronica stormed off looking nauseous while I followed along lugging Chatterbox, Poe silently bringing up the rear. We looked a ragtag bunch: an angry ex-wife, a battered mentalist, and me, the white sheep of the black family. I could think of a handful of people I’d rather have at my side, but beggars can’t be choosers. In the end, I was likely marching off to my death.

Did it really matter which side killed me?

Chapter Twenty

We made it through the shimmering portal and returned to Earth without any problems, much to my surprise. It was as if the spirits knew there was some major shit going down on Terra Firma and they didn’t want anything to do with it. Can’t say I blame them. I didn’t want much to do with it myself.

It was the same uncomfortable quiet on the Earth side. Lilith hadn’t posted a guard or wasted her time watching the gateway, trusting her manipulated goons to kill me. She didn’t know me very well.

Had she been on better terms with her daughter, Veronica could have told her I was real good at screwing up the plans of mice and men, and a succubus or two, now and again. It was a specialty of mine.

Expecting me to be dead, there was probably steam coming out of her ears when I popped back onto the plane alive. Not only had I survived her latest trap, but it’d look to her like I offed the three powerful minions she stole from Baalth. She was not gonna be happy.

To that end, I spurred Veronica and Poe on, our unholy trinity following the waggling lead of Chatterbox’s blackened tongue. While I wanted Lilith to come after me, I didn’t want to face her in the alley. If she showed up too soon, she’d ruin everything. And that likely included me.

A stolen car and an aggravating, circuitous drive to the other side of town later, I could have kicked myself as I realized where Chatterbox was leading us. I should have thought about it long before this. It was the perfect hideout, invisible in plain sight.

When El Paseo was smaller—more dirt, less people—travel to the city was mainly military related, minimizing the need for expensive, public air transportation. Before the city’s population exploded, inheriting the need for an international airport, what didn’t come by railroad was flown in to a small, privately owned airfield situated just outside of town. As the city grew, the need gone, the airfield was shut down, the government canceling their contract. Stubborn and too blind to see the value of the land it sat on, the owner refused to sell and the city engulfed it, building up around the airfield, isolating it.

Nowadays, the land is deeded to the owner’s sons under the provision they hold on to it, untouched, until the military comes to its senses and renews the contract; a circumstance that will never happen.

As such, the land sits empty and ignored, an oasis of overgrown weeds and cracked tarmac, five miles square. Surrounded by a fifteen foot fence capped with redundant layers of razor wire, and rumored to be a preserve for the city’s wild Pit Bull population, the airfield is avoided by even the most ardent of trespassers. It’s a blackened abyss wedged in the center of El Paseo’s failing industrial district, cut off from the world around it. There’s no longer even a street that leads to its rusted, shackled gates, the way blocked off over fifty years earlier.

If there was a better hiding place for a necromancer and an army of zombies, I didn’t know it.

As we got closer, the sun setting in the hazy horizon, we ditched the car and headed through the jumble of weather-worn warehouses and half-abandoned factories. We circled around the perimeter to be sure, avoiding the more populated areas, but Chatterbox’s tongue was rigid with insistence that his master lay beyond the industrial plots.

Rather than take the time to search for an opening, Veronica slipped her sword through a hole in the fence and pressed down, the rune-covered blade slicing through the chain links like scissors through paper. After just a few seconds, she’d carved us a door without making a sound. I slipped through the makeshift entrance, following her. Poe was at my heels, the shining chrome of my old weapon in his hand.

My own gun was out and I carried Chatterbox cradled under my arm as we pressed on through the waist-high grass and grabbing weeds, keeping low to avoid being seen. While we knew Reven was at the airfield, the place was huge. I could guess he’d be somewhere near the center, out of sight from casual view, but I wanted a more accurate locator. Turned out, we didn’t need it.

As we approached the dilapidated control tower, its windows long since having fallen out, we spotted movement on the tarmac. I quickly set Chatterbox down and crouched beside him, Veronica and Poe doing the same, all eyes on the busy runway. The scene, illuminated by the dying rays of the sun and an early moon, made it clear we’d come to the right place. At the base of the tower, huddled together and swaying back and forth like a sea of rotten flesh, was a horde of mumbling zombies.

Out in front of them, gouged into the black asphalt were a massive number of intricate necromantic symbols, spread across what had to have been the length of a football field. Inside their carved shapes was a dark liquid that rippled in the gentle evening breeze. The air was thick with a rusty copper scent, so strong it made my nose itch. It took me a second to recognize the smell, its tang overpowering. It took a second longer to realize its source.

The liquid in the trenches was blood.

My mind boggled as I stared out across the field of symbols, imagining how many people had to die to fill their depths. Reven had been busy. My stomach tightened into a hard ball of hate, sickened by both the smell and his callous disregard of human life. Itching to put a bullet through his skull, I surveyed the runway, but couldn’t spot him anywhere.

Just as I was about to give up and ask Poe if he was capable of picking anything out of the zombies’ heads, a sudden rash of movement amongst their grouping drew my attention. The edges of the horde began to amble forward, spreading their mass thinner as they did. Centered within their smelly ranks, a tight cluster of six zombies trudged up the middle, an object wrapped in purple silk carried reverentially between them. It had to be Longinus.

At their side was Reven, his cloak hood pulled low over his face, his pale hand resting on the silk covering as he kept pace with his pets, as though afraid to let it go. Karra was nowhere to be seen. That worried me.

Unable to locate her, I watched while the pall bearers made their way toward the center of the symbols, the congregation’s undead voices dropped to a whisper, then to nothing. Silent, they took up positions around the edge of the runway, forming a number of big circles, several coming to rest less than twenty feet from where we hid. Fortunately for us, they turned inward, facing Reven, giving us some freedom of movement. Unfortunately, there were a bunch of them between me and the necromancer, so I couldn’t get a clean shot in.

I mouthed a four letter complaint and gestured to the interfering zombies when Veronica looked over her shoulder at me, presumably thinking the same thing. She nodded and drifted, like a shadow, off to our right. Poe and I went after her, hoping to get a better angle, my eyes locked on Reven the entire time. While we moved, the necromancer and his zombies reached the swirling symbol that sat dead center of the rest. The pall bearers set their package down with great care and stepped away, moving off to join the rest of their buddies.

Once they’d cleared the way, Reven peeled back the purple shroud, revealing what lay inside. My presumption was right, it was Longinus. Though his flesh had a concrete-gray pallor to it, and it’d been a long time since I’d seen him last, I recognized him immediately. He was unmistakable.

Dressed in a suit of regal finery, of purples and black, his clothing hid the wounds of his final moments with Lucifer’s dread fiends. His face, ordered left intact by my uncle, showed no signs of his ordeal. Despite the horrific manner of his death, he looked at peace. I knew it was only because supernatural beings don’t rot, their bodies made of sterner stuff than humans, but if I hadn’t known better, I would have sworn he was only sleeping. I half expected him to open his eyes and say, “Boo!”

His long, thick beard stood out dark against his pale face, his expression smoothed to neutral by decades of lifelessness. Laid about his head like a halo, even his lion-like mane retained its dark vibrancy. There was an energy about him that wafted through the air, pinging against the wall of my senses. His power was evident, even in death.

We had to make sure he stayed that way.

As Reven began to chant, his voice drifting out from the blackness beneath his hood, I knew we were running out of time. Lilith hadn’t arrived, as I’d hoped, and Karra still lurked somewhere, out of sight. My plan to let everyone else do the fighting was quickly going down the drain. It was time for the direct approach.

I leaned in close to Veronica. “I need you to run interference. Sweep a path for me so I can get a clear shot at Reven.”“And if you miss?”

I didn’t want to think about that. “I won’t.

She sighed, knowing damn well it wouldn’t be that easy, but nodded nevertheless, drawing her blades without a sound. It was down to the wire and we needed to make something happen. At least if things went south, I still had my aces stuffed up my sleeve. I just hoped they’d be enough.

I motioned with my arm to show Veronica which way I wanted her to go, then gestured for Poe to follow my lead. If I didn’t get the necromancer, maybe he would. It wasn’t much in the way of insurance, but it’d have to do. At this point, I was just making shit up.

Hearing Reven’s voice rise in pitch as he summoned Longinus from the grave, I tapped Veronica on the ass and urged her forward. She gave me a dirty look, her eyes damn near shooting sparks, then leapt toward the zombies.

She never reached them.

From low in the grass, just yards from where we had hidden, Karra sprung out, intercepting her. Her swords flashed silver and before I could move or even cry out, Veronica lay twitching and cursing on the ground. Poe and I jumped up as one, growls in our throats, but Karra was faster.

The flat of her blade slammed hard into my wrist, my hand instantly numb, though only from the impact and not the poison of the blade. While I watched my gun tumble free of my grip, my hand useless, she kicked me in the gut. Struck by what felt like a cinderblock launched from a cannon, I flew back about ten feet before coming to a tumbling halt in a tangle of prickly weeds.

Tired of getting my ass kicked, I was tempted to draw upon my new power, but thought better of it. In the throes of a soul transfer, I’d be completely helpless. Though considering how I was almost completely helpless now, I wasn’t sure it made much of a difference. With a groan, my mind made up—sort of—I hopped up to face Karra.

She stood over Poe, his rigid body hard to see in the high grass. It didn’t take much imagination to guess what had happened. My turn would be next.

Rather than come at me, she remained still, her eyes on mine, her swords pointing my direction. I looked for my gun and spotted it. It lay closer to where she stood than where I did. There was no way I’d beat her to it.

I sighed, the fight pretty much over before it began, but I wasn’t ready to call it quits just yet. “Beating us isn’t gonna change anything; we’re just pawns.” I tried to frighten her. “Lilith will be here any minute.”

Karra sheathed her blades with a metallic snap. “I certainly hope so.” She gestured to Reven, who stopped his chanting. “She comes, get ready.” The necromancer bowed and scurried off into the crowd of zombies.

That’s when it hit me, a ton of proverbial bricks dropped on my thick skull. “You used me?”

“Don’t be so melodramatic, Frankie. I’m sure it’s not the first time.”

It wasn’t, but that was beside the point. “That’s why you let me live, so I could lead Lilith here?” I was feeling a little slow right then, my brain mired in the gooey remains of my comprehension. Lilith tried to manipulate me, and when that failed, she tried to kill me. As for Daartan, he’d simply strong-armed me into cooperating. That was par for the course when it came to dealing with the supernatural world, and I’d expected nothing more, but I’d taken a big chomping bite out of the bait Karra had cast, hook, line, and sinker. That pissed me off.

“There’s more to it than that.” She yanked her hood off.

My heart pounded in my chest as I stared into a face I recognized, my anger gone in a flash. Hazel eyes looked back, sparkling with unabashed amusement. Her high cheeks were flush with tinges of pink, and pushed up by the smile on her full lips. Her punky, blond hair was pulled back tight, made wild by the mask she’d worn.

“Alukarras?”

Her smile grew wider. “Hi Frankie. It’s been a long time.”

It sure had been. Alukarras—Karra—was my first true love. We met shortly after my uncle brought me to Hell. Barely a teenager, lost and beyond confused after the murder of my mother, I’d fallen head-over-heels for the little demon girl who my uncle arranged to show me around. We were inseparable for nearly ten years, then she disappeared without so much as a word. No one would tell me where she’d gone, or what had happened. Even my uncle refused, telling me heartbreak and loss were simple facts of life in Hell. I would grow used to them one day.

I never did.

A storm of emotions welled up inside me, a million questions coming to a head. Only one found its way to my mouth. “Why?”

Eloquent, aren’t I?

“I’m sorry I misled you, but I couldn’t tell you the truth. You would never have gone along.” She gestured towards Longinus. “Maximus is my father.”

The sense of it all settled in my stomach like week-old pizza. When I was young, ignorant, and lost in my puppy love for Karra, I hadn’t ever connected her disappearance with Longinus’s, having never known they were related. The timing of it all was nothing more than a coincidence in my head. Now that all the dots had been connected in crayon, it stuck out like Dolly Parton’s chest.

A shadow settled over her face. “Though it wore upon my heart, I was willing to let him lie, knowing he was safe from further harm. But when I learned that bitch,” the word was wielded like cold steel, “was plotting to steal his body, intending to raise him to serve her whims, I could stand by no longer. I had Reven answer her call for a necromancer and he spirited my father away, returning him to me.”

I felt my face flush. “So hundreds of people died, all to set a trap for Lilith?”

She shook her head. “No. They died to return my father to life.”

I glanced over to where Longinus lay, oblivious to the drama unfolding around him. If Karra had her way, he would soon be aware, and so much more. I couldn’t let that happen. “The past is gone, the mantle of the Anti-Christ with it. Father or not, you would unleash him upon the world knowing what his mission is?”

“Were our positions reversed, would you not do the same for your uncle?”

Her words were a surgical strike. I didn’t know how to answer. There was nothing I wanted more than to have my uncle back in my life, to have the old order restored. I would sacrifice hundreds, thousands, and even millions of lives to bring him back.

Deep down, I knew it was wrong to think like that. It was selfish. The world was a better place without gods and devils and Anti-Christs. God and Lucifer left because they believed the same.

“Come with me, Triggaltheron. My father will raise you up on a pedestal as the true scion of Hell you are.” She took a tentative step forward, her hand out toward me. Her voice was a siren’s song. “We can be together, once more; like we should have always been.”

I looked deep into Karra’s eyes, remembering the times we’d spent in Hell. They’d been the best of my life. We’d grown up together; experienced our first kiss together; made love for the first time together. We’d done practically everything together.

Unlike the string of women who came after her—including Veronica—I’d never felt the same passion for them, the same emotional abandon I had with Karra. No matter how hard I fell for another, in the quiet moments when the world stood still around me and the voices in my head quieted, it was Karra I thought about.

I lost her once to the cold, hard reality of our demonic existence and my heart cried out at her offer. It begged me to go, to be with her again. Even my penis joined the plea. Together, they were a chorus of yes’s, a symphony of agreeance.

But as my heart and body cast their vote, my mind knew what it had to do.

I broke off my stare, my moist eyes drifting to the ground. My stomach soured as my tongue formed my reply, my shaking hand reaching for the amulet at my neck. “I can’t.” The crunch of the obsidian stone was like the closing of a tomb.

Karra gave me a sad smile. “I know.”

With a final glance, her hazel eyes sparkling with something I couldn’t understand, she turned from me and walked away, returning to her father’s side. As I watched her go, the dim bulb of my brain flickered to life when I saw the flashing storm of light approaching through the darkness of the sky.

She knew I would never go along with her, knew I wouldn’t let her return Longinus to life, that I couldn’t abandon Katon to the knights. She used me to set a trap for Lilith, and apparently for Daartan as well. As he and his revenants drew closer, the night turning to shimmering day, it was pretty clear I wouldn’t have long to wait before I found out what she was up to.

Chapter Twenty-One

Daartan arrived in a blustering cacophony of light and sound, his knights behind him. A ragged and beaten Katon dangled over his white-clad shoulder. Kicking up a swirl of dust, the revenants settled onto the tarmac, their eyes whirling as the chill from their presence settled in like an early winter.

The White Knight smiled as he came to rest a short distance from Reven, the necromancer surrounded by his army of corpses. After a quick glance about, no doubt spotting the body of Longinus set amidst the symbols, Daartan tossed Katon to the side like unwanted trash.

On the ground, the vampire lay still, showing no signs of life. If it weren’t for my senses picking up the subtle mystical pulse of his presence, I wouldn’t have known he was alive.

They’d given him no opportunity to heal, apparently beating him—torturing him—to keep him compliant. His flesh remained torn in bloody strips, his face so swollen as to be unrecognizable. Worse even, his eye still hung loose from its socket, the wound now congealed with blood and thick pus. It had to be agonizing.

My face burned with the need for revenge, my knuckles popping against the grip of my gun. Only the cold, hard realization I stood no chance of taking out Daartan, kept me from going after him. What would my sacrifice be worth if Katon died right after? Nothing.

Besides, there were plenty of unknowns still up in the air. I might not be able to go toe-to-toe with Daartan, but when the opportunity presented itself, and it would, I’d put one in the back of his head.

Seeing him confront Reven gave me hope I might not have to wait too long for such an opportunity. Things heating up, I swung by and snatched up Poe’s gun, then circled off to find a more tactical staging point. As I settled in, I heard the Knight’s voice ring out.

“So necromancer, you dare to challenge God’s will?” Tendrils of frosty white spewed from Daartan’s mouth with every word.

Reven stood tall behind his rotting wall of zombies. “Your God has abandoned you.” He apparently had a brass pair on him. They clanged out, loud and clear. “I challenge no one’s will but yours, misguided as it is.”

“Blasphemy!” Daartan floated forward a few feet, the ambient temperature dropping several degrees with his displeasure. He drew Katon’s sword. “You will rue your black-tongued heresy when I rip your Godless soul apart.”

To my surprise, Reven smiled wide, his yellow eyes meeting Daartan’s withering stare with confidence. “Perhaps, ghost, but I shall die comforted by the knowledge you and your kind will have met the same fate.”

With that, the necromancer muttered something obscure and raised his hands to the sky, the rumble of thunder accompanying the movement.

From beneath the knights, the tarmac split and burst open with a roar. Chunks of asphalt were flung into the air as a ravening throng of ghouls exploded from beneath it, their grasping claws tearing at the surprised revenants. Their fevered growls filled the night with a feral intensity that set my skin crawling with a mix of fear and excitement.

As Reven drew back toward Longinus, his wall of undead at his side, the rest of his zombies joined the fray as well. They hurled themselves at the knights between the scads of ghouls that swarmed over them like ants on spilled ice cream. It was an amazing sight. Though I was just as much in danger of getting caught up in the maelstrom, it was pretty damn satisfying to see Daartan and his revenants forced on the defensive, even if it was only temporary.

While the trap was well sprung, Reven had to know his forces couldn’t win. The revenants were far too powerful to be beaten by mere ghouls and zombies, regardless of their numbers. It was only a matter of time until the knights won out. Glorious as it was then, there had to be more to the plan than throwing away their minions. The fact that Karra was once more somewhere out of sight led me to believe there was.

Then just as that thought rattled through my skull, I heard another rumble split the sky, this time from behind me. Spinning, my guns out in front, my balls scurried into my ass as Lilith joined the field. A legion of gaunts spilled across the tarmac before her.

While I’d expected her to show up ready to throw down, I hadn’t expected her to bring an army. Now there I was, caught between the chaotic convergence of Lilith, Daartan, and Reven’s forces. It wasn’t where I wanted to be, let me tell you.

I cast a quick glance at Daartan, his rage seeping off his face in wispy white spurts of glowing light. If he’d noticed Lilith’s arrival, he didn’t show it. He slashed through the undead like a whirlwind, Katon’s sword leaving behind a trail of sparkling power and severed limbs. For every one Daartan felled, two more took its place, pressing the knights back under a wave of fearless, insistent flesh. In the rush of battle, they left Katon behind, the fight moving away from where he lay.

As the gaunts stormed through the high grass to join the fray, I realized Veronica and Poe lay in their path. Cursing, I stuffed my guns into my waistband and raced back to them, putting myself exactly where I didn’t want to be; right in the middle of it all, but I couldn’t leave them to be trampled. My heart pounding louder than the approaching legions, I gathered them up, all niceness and consideration aside, and dragged them roughshod out of the way. We made it to safe ground just as the leading edge blew past.

Behind them, Lilith bellowed orders, sending her troops out scattershot, some after Reven, the rest at Daartan. A handful of enslaved minions stayed at her side as she remained behind.

Grateful we’d made it to safety in time, I let out a wheezing sigh of relief. It was premature.

As Lilith’s army took the field with a roar, she came to stand before me, a sneer mangling her gorgeous lips. I stepped forward, guns drawn, placing myself between her and Veronica. Her minions took up defensive positions in front of their master, grumbling threats my direction, but they stayed put.

“You are an infuriating little man, Triggaltheron.”

“I get that a lot.”

She shook her head, her sneer transforming into a toothy smile. “I guess I can’t complain too much though. Not only have you led me to Longinus, you’ve managed get my get my snot-nosed daughter caught up in all the drama.” She gestured to Veronica, chuckling, the malice in her eyes obvious. “Lucifer was right, you are occasionally useful.”

I knew she was just trying to rattle my cage, but it still hurt deep down to think my uncle might have actually said that. Not willing to let her get to me, I fired back.

“Funny thing, he said the same thing about you.” The smile dropped from her face. “Although, I do remember him saying how much better your sister was in bed.”

Lilith let loose a growl like I’d never heard, its rage making every hair on my body stand at attention. “Kill him!” She shoved the nearest gaunt, knocking him to the ground while the rest tripped over themselves to get to me.

Mission accomplished.

Certain the gaunts would follow me, I left Poe and Veronica where they lay and bounded off into the grass. Driven by Lilith’s overwhelming desire to see me dead, they did just that, nipping at my heels like angry Chihuahuas.

Torn between punishing me and reclaiming Longinus, it seemed Lilith’s interest in the Anti-Christ won out. Her eye on the prize, she turned her back and headed after Reven, leaving her goons to handle me.

Figuring now was as good a time as any, I played one of the last cards I still had control over. “You here, Michael?”

The telepathic connection opened in an instant. “I’m here.”

I breathed a sigh of relief that Veronica had done exactly as I’d asked of her. “Katon is free of the revenants and I could use a little help.”

Michael didn’t bother to answer, wasting no time delivering the message.

Nearby, where Chatterbox lay, a flash of crimson light exploded in the deep grasses. As it faded, a shadow appeared in its place. Storming across the intervening distance between us, not bothering to conceal his presence was Rahim.

The gaunts chasing me stopped in their tracks at seeing the wizard’s sudden appearance. Glad of the distraction, I stopped running, spun around, and shot the one closest to me. It fell dead, a smoking crater in its forehead, a raging volcano of blood of gunk spewing from the back of its skull. The four behind it went up in a blaze of not-so-much-glory as Rahim seared them into piles of willowy ash before the one I’d shot even hit the ground.

His dark gaze settled on mine. He wasted no time on unnecessary words. “Where?”

I pointed, understanding that Katon came first.

With a glimmer of thanks in his eyes, Rahim raced to the enforcer’s side. Heedless of his own safety and well-being, Katon laying just yards from the frenzied battle, he heaved the enforcer up into his arms. Within seconds, the pair disappeared.

Assured that Katon was now out of harm’s way and Daartan had his hands full, for the moment at least, I went after Lilith. Her gaunts had dealt a crippling blow to Reven’s defending zombies and now the two stood face to face, just a short distance from where Longinus lay. They were arguing, their voices pitched and angry. Though I couldn’t understand what was being said through the wall of noise that pounded against my ears, their wild gestures told me it was beyond heated. Things were gonna get bad soon.

While their attention was on each other, both having forgotten about me, I maneuvered around behind them. Surrounded as they were by their battling minions, there was no way I could shoot either of them before they knew I was there. Cursing under my breath, I crept low in the grass, doing my best to avoid being seen. I’d made it to within thirty feet before my luck gave out.

A gaunt that’d just finished tearing a zombie to pieces, looked up from its kill and spotted me as I tried to eke past. Its feral eyes narrowed and a rumbling growl erupted from its throat. It barreled after me, intent on taking me down. I would have loved to shoot it, but surprise was the only advantage I had at that point. Despite the noise level, there’d be no mistaking a gunshot in a fistfight, this close behind them.

That didn’t stop me from using my gun. After all the practice I’d gotten in with Marcus, I felt I was pretty adept at delivering a satisfactory pistol-whipping. Turns out, I was right.

The gaunt closed and I backhanded it like it owed me money. The grip slammed into its face with a crunch, its orbital bone snapping under the pressure. Its momentum redirected by the blow, it stumbled past and crashed to the ground. It stared up at me, one eye doing a twitching dance, swirling unfocused in its socket. The other got to see the gun coming back for seconds. After that, it saw nothing at all.

The crumpled gaunt at my feet, I spun around to reorient myself just in time to see Lilith standing over Reven. She straddled him, his wadded cloak clutched in one of her hands, the other held back, ready to strike. He screamed at her, his voice sharp and piercing, but without a hint of fear. I still couldn’t make out what he shouted, but it sounded pretty damn colorful.

The necromancer’s screams adding to the covering sounds of fighting, I saw the opportunity to get behind Lilith and took it, putting hoof to tarmac. As I got closer, her arm swept down at Reven, her sharpened nails extended. His shrieking curses were cut short, replaced by a wet gagging sound as her makeshift claws tore into his neck. An arc of crimson followed in the wake of her arm, the red, dripping cords of his throat in her hand. Laughing like a drunken hyena, she cast aside Reven’s twitching form, leaving him to die as she made her way to Longinus. Somewhere deep inside my head, a voice cheered his demise, plying me with hope that with his death, the threat of the Anti-Christ’s return had been ended.

Sadly, I knew better. Nothing was ever that simple in my life. So, determined to see it through to the end, I raced off after Lilith.

I growled aloud as I realized I wouldn’t catch her before she made it to Longinus’s body, having to dodge yet another gaunt that stumbled into my path. As I batted it aside, I cast a glance at Daartan to see where he was.

Though still in the thick of it, he and his revenants were turning the tide. It wouldn’t be long before they overcame the swarming minions, aided in part by Reven’s death; the zombies and ghouls already slowing as the necromancer gasped to draw in a last breath, his lungs filling with his own, bitter blood.

Unconcerned with his death at that moment, intent upon stopping Lilith, I doubled my effort to get to her. She’d reached Longinus and was bent over him, gently pulling the silken shroud over him. Suddenly, the sea of minions parted, zombies and ghouls dropping to the ground in fleshy heaps, their magical link to life severed as Reven’s heart stilled inside his chest. A pang of sadness rattled in the background of my mind. Though I inwardly celebrated Reven’s death, I couldn’t help but feel the loss of Chatterbox, his energies tied to the necromancer. It was a sad day in Metalville.

Pushing that all aside, I raised my guns and took aim, imagining the ruin of Lilith’s beautiful face as my bullets exploded through it. My glorious vision, however, was interrupted as something struck the back of my legs, sweeping them out from beneath me. I had a split-second of surprise and weightlessness before I hit the ground hard, the back of my head whiplashing into the asphalt with a violent crack. The momentum of the fall rolled me over and I came to a seated stop. With my head ringing like an ensemble of cathedral bells, I gulped in a deep breath, shook my head to get my eyes to work, and looked to see if I could get the license plate of the truck that hit me.

I knew even before I saw her, who it had been: Karra.

With only one of her blades drawn, she closed the distance between her and Lilith, navigating the obstacle course of gaunts and fallen undead with catlike grace. The world slid into focus as everything came together in my mind and I realized what her plan had been all along.

She slipped behind Lilith, her free arm wrapping like a snake’s coil around the succubus’s throat. Lilith’s sea-green eyes sprang wide, any complaints she might have had were silenced by the stranglehold. Her hands grasped at Karra’s arm with frightened tenacity, nails biting into her captor’s flesh.

In a fair fight, strength for strength, I’d have given the advantage to Lilith, her power built up over an immeasurable lifespan. But this wasn’t anything resembling a fair fight. Before she had the chance to adjust and grapple her way free, Karra ran her through.

I saw a foot and a half of blooded silver erupt from Lilith’s chest, her face reflecting the agony she couldn’t voice. Then she went limp, her body a rag doll, the poison of Karra’s sword mainlining through her system. Alive, though just barely, the blade having pierced her heart, Lilith could do nothing but wait as her life came to an end.

In silent triumph, Karra held Lilith over her father’s body and tore the blade free, yanking it out to the side for maximum carnage. Steaming black blood spewed from the gaping wound, showering Longinus with the vital fluid. Prodding the flaps of the open gash to speed its crimson exodus, Karra maneuvered the dying succubus’s body so that her father was covered from head to toe with blood. Then seemingly satisfied, she cast Lilith aside, the succubus a rigid lump. Though Karra’s face was awash with pleasure, she held her ground in a defensive posture, ready to protect her father.

As she stood waiting, the air erupted with razor-throated screams, my eardrums rattling deep inside. I looked over to see Daartan upon his knees, the ruin of his enemies scattered about him waist-deep, in slaughtered pieces. His eyes, and those of his knights, were nailed to Longinus, their whirling yellow tinged with something I’d never imagined seeing there: fear.

It was then I felt a stirring in the air, an ephemeral shift that tickled my senses, light as a spider upon its web. My heart beat a tattoo in my chest as the gentle spark of presence built into a sputtering lick of flame. I looked back at Longinus, the gray pallor of his flesh, where the blood has soaked in, already began to show the tiniest splotches of pink. My stomach twisted tighter than a Slinky in the hands of a toddler as his resurrection played out before me. I felt sick with the realization Reven hadn’t been needed for the last step. Now with the process begun, there was nothing I could do to stop it. It was out of my hands. At least at the rate it was progressing, I’d be dead before the Anti-Christ returned. How comforting.

I glanced over at Lilith, her glassy eyes filled with tears, the silver of their passage glistening on her cheeks. She’d been right. Reven had needed powerful blood to bring Longinus back to life. She just hadn’t known it would be hers.

It must have been an emotional moment for her, laying there beside her ex-lover, watching life return to his cold body while hers slipped away, leaking out into a puddle on the cold tarmac. Not that I felt sorry for her, or anything. The bitch had it coming. There wasn’t enough compassion in the world to get me to shed a tear over her passing, but all things considered, there was far more danger wrought by her death than her continued existence.

Daartan must have realized that as well. Back on his feet, he swept aside the pitiful remains of Lilith’s minions that stood before him, those that hadn’t already fled, and went after Karra. His knights remained behind.

Huddling together, they began to chant, their voices rising up in a wailing dirge. The light of their presence dimmed to a dull, flickering while Daartan’s flesh began to grow brighter, more vibrant. Infused with a brilliant hue, he seemed to absorb the light of his followers.

As he streaked forward, his voice was like a million banshees, distorted and deafening, full of murderous intent. He leapt at Karra, his sword arcing downward to split her in two.

She raised her own sword and leaned into the attack. Their blades collided with a metallic clang, just inches above her crossguard, before she spun away to slash at his legs. While only the tip seemed to pass through the apparition’s glowing flesh, he let out an irritated growl, rivulets of light seeping from the wound. Blustering aside, the injury did nothing to slow him, the poison having no effect. In fact, it seemed only to provoke him, infuriate him.

Daartan pressed harder, swinging his sword with reckless aggression. He used his strength and reach to stifle her quickness and keep her at the end of his blade. In response, Karra went on the defensive, parrying his blows in a flurry of twists and acrobatic turns, but still he drove her back. Inch by inch, she was forced away from her father’s body. I could see her arms trembling as their swords clashed together, their impact throwing off glistening sparks that exploded about them.

Her lips pulled back in a pained sneer at each clanging collision, tiny, red wounds appearing wherever the fiery tracers struck. After but a moment, the amassed wounds ran free, a crimson robe flowing down her body. Daartan continued forward, a merciless juggernaut, offering her no respite. Her trembles turned to shakes, then to shudders. Moment by moment, he was wearing her down.

More a technician, a maestro of technique and tactics, Karra could find no answer to the riddle of Daartan’s fury, no doubt bolstered by the mystical conviction of his revenants. She danced and weaved, trying to slip in a delaying stroke between harrowed defenses, but the Knight’s relentless assault kept her at bay. Under the constant pressure, her guard dropping lower after each blow, she stumbled, barely managing to avoid being cut down. The next time her guard fell, it would never rise again.

I couldn’t let that happen.

Though I didn’t have any horses in this race, at least none still in the running, my conscience wouldn’t let me sit back and watch Karra be killed, even if she had used me. But really, what woman hadn’t? If I let that be the deciding factor as to who I saved, there wouldn’t be a woman I knew left alive.

So as Daartan raised his stolen sword to deliver the deathblow, I shook the last of the cobwebs off, and put two in his back. He howled as the supernaturally charged bullets tore through him, explosions of illumination bursting from his chest. He spun about in a howling storm of light, Karra forgotten in the molten moment of his anger. His yellow eyes whirled like wild dervishes, more with surprise than pain.

He caught two more for his attitude, for all the good they did.

While I knew the revenant was tough, I’d never seen anyone shrug off the D/A slayers so easily. Not even the demon Asmoday, a top lieutenant in Lucifer’s army, took it so well. Daartan didn’t even blink when the bullets blew through him, tendrils of smoky luminescence uncoiling out of his back. He just smiled and charged as though I’d never even shot him at all.

“You’ve sealed your fate, devil-spawn.”

Caught off guard by his reaction, or lack thereof, I panicked. I admit it. After the beating he laid on me and Katon out at the ranch, I knew from firsthand experience this wasn’t a fight I was gonna win. It wasn’t even a fight I’d wanted to get into, let alone now that I’d seen the full extent of his power. I let my feelings get in the way and so there I was, my nuts in a bundle, while a rampaging ghost with a magical sword charged at me as though we were reenacting the Lizzie Borden murders.

Spoiler alert: Everyone but Lizzie ends up hacked to pieces.

I loosed a resigned sigh as Daartan bore down on me, his eagerness spewing out in frigid huffs of breath. I felt like Don Quixote, tilting at a bullet train, but the least I could do was go out with my boots on. No one but the coroner needed to know they were filled to the ankles with shit.

Casting a quick glance at Karra, it was clear I couldn’t expect any help from her. A stumbling font of red, she had dragged herself to her father’s body and lay there, draped over him in a sobbing heap. She was out of the fight.

Squinting at the bright light emanating from Daartan, and wrestling with the urge to bolt, I stood my ground and got ready to meet the revenant’s challenge with hot, supernatural, blood-infused lead. I still had my ace up my sleeve, the power given to me by Baalth, but it wouldn’t do me any good if I pulled it out too soon. It’d be a case of premature assimilation.

Caught up in the ecstasy of a massive soul transfer, I might not feel the pain being dealt to me, my injuries healing as they were doled out, but I’d be helpless, a devilish punching bag. The magic would be taxed to its fullest as soon as the transfer wore off.

Even with the increase, it’d only delay the inevitable, Daartan still too much a stud for me to take out alone. My only chance was to stay mobile and keep the Knight occupied and away from Karra and her father, all the while, hoping for a miracle.

But you know what they say: wish in one hand, shit in the other. Which one fills up faster? Let’s just say there’s gonna be a shortage of wishes.

That’s when the sodden gray lump inside my head sparked into a semblance of functionality. I didn’t need to go after Daartan to hurt him.

I waited until he was right on top of me, his sword whipping through the air toward my head, before ducking out under his arm. The blade whooshed by, only millimeters from my skull, but it gave me the precious seconds I needed as his momentum carried him past.

Though I had Daartan’s back to me, undefended and vulnerable, it wasn’t him I wanted. Smiling from ear to ear, I raised my guns and let lead fly.

The unsuspecting revenants, piled together nice and snuggly close, broke out in discordant shrieks as my bullets tore into them, their chant disrupted. Just as I thought, their spell having transferred the majority of their powers to Daartan, their reaction to being shot was far from the confident invulnerability shown by their leader.

Obsidian holes, like festering mold, appeared wherever my bullets struck. Spider-web like striations spread out with lightning quickness, a plague upon their ethereal flesh. Several dropped under the first barrage, their already dim lights blinking out. Their corporeal forms turned to wispy dust and dispersed into nothingness, as though they never existed. The rest stumbled about, screeching and grasping at their blackened wounds as they stared at me in disbelief. My second volley was probably just as devastating, though I didn’t get the chance to watch its effects.

As the barest hint of a soul transfer washed over me, the revenants power so diminished as to be negligible, I heard Daartan roar behind me. Before I could determine the best direction to go to avoid him, Katon’s sword bit into the meat of my side.

I’d like to say I took it like a man, gritting my teeth and hopping back up to continue the fight, but I’d be lying.

I screamed like a pig being slaughtered as the blade sunk in, shrill and uncomfortable to hear. It was even worse when he yanked the sword out, my shriek trailing away into a wet gurgle as my vocal cords ruptured.

My eyes went white with pain, sightless, my legs disappearing from beneath me. I went down on my back in a shuddering heap, warm splashes of blood striking my face from the morbid geyser at my side. Daartan hovered over me, his presence like a brick. Though I couldn’t see him, I knew there was death in his eyes.

“You shall pay for your transgressions.” His words battered my face. “I intended to claim Longinus’s body as my own, but now, I must settle for his spirit.”

Through the muddle of pain, my mind aah’ed, understanding his motivation at last. It wasn’t much of a consolation, but at least I’d help screw the revenant before I went out. Hardly headstone worthy, but it’d have to do.

“You and the girl-child will never see the resurrection of your unholy lord. I will rend his spirit from this world with his own blade, ending forever the line Anti-Christs. When his essence has become mine, I will send his daughter to join him as you watch, helpless to save her.” He held Katon’s sword out. “Then when I’m done with them, I will peel the flesh from your bones and carve you apart, piece by bloody piece. Your death will last an eternity.”

I thought his speech would too.

Not content just to threaten, he slammed his sword through my shoulder to the hilt. Its blade pierced my back and sunk deep into the tarmac below, pinning me. It felt like ice sliding through, freezing cold and burning at the same time. Compared to the wound in my side, its clean entry was little more than a tickle, my mind already shutting down its sensory receptors. It’d had too much.

Daartan wrapped his frigid hand around my neck and pulled me up against the painful resistance of the blade, leaning in face-to-face. I could feel the frost of his breath, stinging my cheeks. Though still a little hazy, my eyes focused and met his, their yellow swirling so fast as to make me dizzy.

“Your heroics have availed you naught. The end has come. Soon your suffering will begin.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.”

Daartan’s eyes flew wide as the deep tones of Barry White rang out behind him. It was all he had time to do before all hell broke loose.

The searing, red blast of Rahim’s fury cast a crimson glow over everything, its vicious energy slamming into Daartan. The White Knight screamed as he was blown forward, his ghostly flesh alive with magical fire. He came down with a crash, half a football field away, the grass around him going up in flames.

Rahim marched past me, not so much as sparing a glance. He was on a mission. His only objective: hurt Daartan.

Through the murky fog of my thoughts, I knew it wouldn’t work out that way. Even without Daartan’s extra boost of power from his followers, Rahim was playing out of his league. He’d get some good shots in, no doubt about that, but it wouldn’t be enough. He might, however, keep him occupied long enough for the new me to join in.

Unsure exactly as to how I was supposed to take possession of Baalth’s gift, I hoped I could pull it off in time. Difficult to focus, I did my best to push away the agony-numbing miasma that guarded the remnants of my sanity—such as it is. As the clouds drifted back at my mental urging, the pain began to well up, gushing through the cracks, my nerves reawakening to a blistering torment that sparked off like firecrackers buried under my skin.

I fought it off and concentrated on the leaden mass in my stomach. Picturing the sphere I’d swallowed, I imagined myself absorbing it, willing it to crack open and join with my essence.

It was as easy as that.

Less than a heartbeat later, I felt the foreign hardness in my gut soften and melt away. Tingles spread through my body in a rush, phantom itches that couldn’t be scratched. They took a bite out of the agony, then another, and another, until I felt it no longer.

Then suddenly, I was sucked under. Pleasure like I’d never felt before caressed my every nerve, a lifetime of orgasms squeezed into an instant, every molecule of my body experiencing it at once. I lay there twitching, unable to see through the whitewash of rapture, the chaotic world around me a distant memory I wanted no part of.

I don’t know how long I was caught up in it, the ravaging force of the transfer leaving no room for anything but the bliss of its touch, but it seemed to go on forever. Gradually, I began to come down, the whirlpool of sensory overload easing off, my mind settling into a clarity it’d never known.

Suddenly very mindful of my surroundings, I looked to my shoulder and saw the blade no longer protruded from it. It lay on the ground beside me, covered in the dark blood of my now closed wound. My eyes drifted down to my side. It was the same. The eight inch deep gash that had been carved just above my hip was gone, not a trace of it left.

Having only gone through two other soul transfers, both minor in scale, I was amazed by how good I felt, how powerful. Feeling like I could take on the world, I hopped to my feet and looked for Rahim.

He stood before Daartan, a sputtering shield of red held out in front of him as he loosed a mystical blast at the revenant, the air thick with magical resonance. Still burning with flickers of Rahim’s flaming manifestation of power, Daartan absorbed the blow with a howling groan, and lashed out in response.

His glowing fist crashed through Rahim’s shield, slamming into the wizard’s ear. His head snapped to the side and he went down hard, spinning to a crash. His eyes were open, but the lights were way out.

Furious at myself for being too slow to keep Rahim from getting hurt, I reached for Katon’s sword. Even if I couldn’t win, I was gonna make a fight of it.

A strong, bronze hand beat me to it, plucking it from the ground and drawing it out of sight behind me. I froze when I saw the silky purple of the connected sleeve. Slow and careful, I raised my hands and turned around as a wash of mystical energy I hadn’t noticed earlier, resonated clear against my senses.

The steely eyes of Longinus met my trembling gaze. The gray pall, which had colored his skin as he lay on the tarmac was gone, replaced with a deep tan. His face was as smooth as new leather. Though several inches shorter than me, he was built for power, his barrel chest twice that of mine. His arms were easily the size of my head.

He stared at me a moment, his expression neutral, before casting a glance beyond to where Daartan stood. Anger sparked off in his eyes and he reached up and laid a strong hand on my shoulder. I stiffened, expecting violence, but he only moved me to the side so he could step past.

“Knight!” His voice rang out like a hammer against an anvil, its force silencing all else on the inauspicious night.

Daartan looked up from Rahim and stared at Longinus, his eyes like miniature suns in the sky of his face. He glanced to where the Anti-Christ had laid until just moments before, then back to Longinus, then back and forth once more. The disbelief written across his face was almost comical.

“There is much we must discuss.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

The Anti-Christ strolled forward, Katon’s sword in his hand. Crafted from the spear Longinus had used to send Christ packing back to Heaven, it looked at home there, his grip confident upon its hilt.

Seeing him approach, Daartan stumbled back a step, falling to his knees, deep lines etched into the light of his face. He raised his shaking hands to ward Longinus off.

“I do but what God has decreed for me to do.” Gone was the swagger and bluster, the arrogance. In its place was sheer terror. It was easy to corral and lord power over an Anti-Christ when he was dead. It was another thing entirely to do so when he stood before you, the cold steel of his living gaze taking your measure.

Longinus looked to the sky, a subtle smile playing on his lips, before returning his focus to Daartan. “Though I cannot fathom how it is possible, there is no trace of God’s presence in the world. Nor for that matter, is there any of Lucifer. Much must have changed while I slumbered dreamless under your vigilant watch.” He leaned in close, baring his teeth in a fearsome grin. His eyes sparkled with malevolence. “However, there is much that has not changed god or no.”

Daartan shuddered as Longinus gestured to Karra. She walked over and stood beside me, a satisfied smile on her face. Though still shrouded in wet red, her wounds were healed. Her eyes were filled with excitement, but she remained quiet, her attention focused on her father.

“You dared lay your hands on my daughter. For that alone, I will have your soul. Were it not for her sacrifice, offering up her blood to speed my return, you would have taken her life.” He set the tip of his blade against Daartan’s trembling throat. “Your audacity has cost you your soul. However, your failure has earned you a swift death.”

As though resigned to his fate, Daartan said nothing, his eyes straight ahead. Not one for empty threats, Longinus set his hand upon the knight’s head, grabbing ahold of his ethereal form, and thrust the blade through his neck.

Daartan gurgled a scream, twitching in the Anti-Christ’s grip, before going silent as the blade was torn to the side, cutting through the left half of his neck in an explosion of brilliance. In a smooth, sweeping motion, Longinus brought the sword back around to finish the job, hacking through what was left of Daartan’s neck.

The knight’s head came free. Longinus raised it up, tendrils of dripping light streaming from its severed base. Like his followers, his glowing flesh dimmed and went dark, blackened decay spreading across its surface, a wildfire of rot. A moment later it felt apart, a hail of dust showering down over Longinus’s flushed face.

He stood still, not even bothering to lower his arm as Daartan’s spirit fled the ashes of its previous form. He closed his eyes tight as the soul transfer washed over him, little hint of it visible on his stoic face. A few moments later, his eyes sprung open. He looked about, taking in the ruin of the field. After a moment, his gaze alighted on the fallen body of Lilith.

With measured paces, he went to her. He dropped to a knee beside Lilith and scooped up her small, bloody hand and placed it inside his before pulling her head into his lap. He looked down at her, his face without expression. Though I couldn’t hear from where I stood, I saw him whispering to her as he gently stroked her hair, smoothing it away from her frozen face.

Dead, her spirit lost in the abyss, Lilith stared up at him in silence, unseeing. It had been her heart that killed him and in the end, it had been her heart that raised him up. Were this any other story, it would have been a happy ending.

Afraid to speak, for fear of incurring Longinus’s wrath, I glanced at Karra. Her eyes never once met mine, locked as they were upon her father. An exhilarated smile creased her face, so deep there were troughs in her cheeks. Against the odds and the will of God, she’d returned him to life. She left a wake of destruction behind her, but she had her father back.

I turned back to Longinus and jumped as I realized he was walking toward us. My heart sped up involuntarily as he came to stand before me, the cold chill of fear dancing along my spine. Karra, all smiles, wrapped herself around him in a tight embrace, burying her head in his chest. He pulled her in close with one of his massive arms while the other still gripped his sword, his dark eyes locked on mine.

“I remember you.” His voice was quiet, yet powerful.

I hesitated to confirm that, given what my uncle had done to him.

“Triggaltheron? Lucifer’s whelp.” He remembered, saying it without rancor, much to my surprise. With a flick of his wrist, he flung the blade point first into the ground and proffered his empty hand to me. “I am in your debt.”

Even more surprised by that, I shook his hand, doing my damndest to keep mine from trembling. “That’s not necessary,” I told him, manners kicking in instinctively before reason could talk them out of declining.

“Perhaps not, but you have earned my gratitude nonetheless.” He tightened his hold on Karra. She moaned happy, looking unwilling to let him go. He smiled at her response. “It seems I have returned to a world far different than the one I left. Indulge me a moment?”

I nodded, as if anyone in their right mind would say no.

“God and Lucifer: where have they gone?”

“I wish I knew,” I answered honest. “Tired of the war, they reconciled and left the world behind. No one knows where they are.”

One eyebrow raised, he looked at me unbelieving. “Reconciled?”

“It’s true,” Karra told him, pulling away from him just a little, though her hands still clutched to his frame.

His face a mask of uncertainty, he sighed, slow and thoughtful. “The order?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “There’s not much of that these days. The soldiers still fight, but there are no generals to direct them. It’s chaos. Angels battle angels, each believing they know God’s will best. Our brethren do as they’ve always done, but now there’s no one to rein them in. And through it all, the humans are largely oblivious, caught in the middle, same as always.”

Longinus took it all in, shaking his head. “You say there are no generals, but when I awoke, I sensed an old soul whose energy felt familiar, yet I couldn’t recognize.”

“That’d be Baalth.”

His eyes widened a moment, then narrowed. “He’s come into power?” Not waiting for an answer, he took his daughter’s hand, pulling her close again. “It seems I have much to learn about this new world of ours.” He kissed Karra’s forehead gently. “I must also make up for lost time. Farewell, Triggaltheron. My conflict with Lucifer is not yours to inherit. Think of me should you find yourself in need.”

He reached down and reclaimed Katon’s sword, then bowed his head. I did the same in return.

Karra smiled at me, her eyes telling me sorry. “I’ll find you, and we’ll talk.” She mouthed thanks and gave a quick wave. A moment later, they were gone in a crackle of energy.

The last man standing on an empty field, I went over to check on Rahim. Battered, his ear swollen and leaking blood, he was at least awake. His head was propped up against the body of a fallen gaunt and he was looking off the direction I’d come. He had a smile on his weary face.

“I saw him die.” His voice was weak, but there was a satisfied lilt to it. Though he probably regretted not being the one to deliver the deathblow to Daartan, he could feel satisfied the knight got what was coming to him for his mistreatment of Katon.

While I, too, was glad Daartan was gone, not to mention Lilith, I wasn’t sure how to feel about it given the big picture. Despite his seeming kindness and the offer of help, Longinus had a track record that suggested we could be in for a rough ride. Reborn in a world with no God or Devil to keep him in his place, he was a superstar supernatural who could tear existence apart, if that was his desire. He was the Anti-Christ after all.

That was just it. We had no way of knowing where his head was after four hundred years of being dead. Would he return to business as usual, no longer leashed to Lucifer’s whims, or would the new order bring out the best in him, motivate him to reinvent himself? Only time would tell.

The not knowing scared me.

Not up to thinking about it right then, Pandora’s Box already open, it was time to go home. There was no sense in worrying about what hadn’t happened yet. So thinking, I helped Rahim to his feet and half-carried him over to where Veronica and Poe lay, the poison still holding them immobile. Setting the wizard down beside them, I contacted Michael through the open mind-link, and let him know we needed a ride.

Chapter Twenty-Three

It’d been a couple of weeks since Karra raised her father, and while there’d been a rash of storms lighting up the skies in the area, the world was still here. That’s a good thing, I guess.

Though I hadn’t seen or spoken to her, she sent me a letter apologizing for what she’d done, and hoped I would understand. I did, but it didn’t make me feel any better or worry any less. With my help, she’d set a wolf loose in the hen house and it was probably only a matter of time until the feathers started to fly. When they did, it’d be on my head.

I’m not big on guilt or regret, they only limit your options when the chips are down, but looking back, I could have done things better.

Unintentionally helping to raise an Anti-Christ aside, not everything turned out so bad. Katon had been rescued, and after a couple of days, he recovered fully. He was pissed about losing his sword, but there wasn’t much that could be done about that. The cleanup crew found one of Karra’s blades that was left behind and passed it on to Katon. It wasn’t the same, but it’d have to do.

Rahim’s injuries turned out to be relatively minor, though compounded on top of his previous wounds, he was gonna need a while to recover his strength. He grumbled a lot, but he was gonna get better.

Best of all, I’d gotten to beat Marcus’s ass. That was definitely a checkmark on the plus side. Maybe the next time we butted heads, he’d keep that in mind and be less of an asshole. I doubted it, but I could hope.

We also rid the world of Daartan, his revenants, and Lilith. The last was a mixed blessing.

Though they weren’t close, Veronica still took the death of her mother hard, the roots of their relationship tangled and deep. It’d be a long time before she was okay with it, but the loss opened her eyes a little, so maybe it was for the best. She’d even taken a step toward rebuilding our burnt bridges, returning my uncle’s blood to me. She still wouldn’t tell me why took it in the first place, but I was content to have it back. It was definitely worth a couple of planks.

Lilith’s body was collected by DRAC and stored away in one of their facilities for safekeeping. Abraham learned to keep his enemies close and their corpses even closer.

As for Baalth, not much changed. His power still gnawed away at him, but what he passed on to me must have been just enough to keep it from boiling over. He even took the news of Longinus’s return without devastating any more of the city, which was nice of him.

Michael Li sure appreciated it. He and his mentalists had enough to do, wiping the minds of the citizenry and making it so there was no concerted effort to look into what had happened at Old Town or at the airfield. Those who he missed, Baalth’s money took care of. Comfortably unaware, the city wound back down to business as usual as the rebuilding began.

I was kept busy by Abraham, going over every detail I knew about Longinus and Karra; he wanted to know everything. It was a long and emotionally draining process, forced to remember my early years spent in Hell with Karra, without the buffer of alcohol. Some of the memories were great, things I hadn’t thought about in forever, but a lot of it was just painful. I left his office every day feeling beat, my heart a sodden mess.

Chatterbox helped to lighten the mood though. I’d gone back to retrieve him, to give him a proper burial, only to find him alive and as well as a bodiless head can be. For whatever reason, he remained animated, surviving the death of his master. Once Veronica freed him from her leash, he popped right back to his old self, breaking out into a rousing rendition of “Some Heads are Gonna Roll,” by Judas Priest. Laughing all the way home, I plopped him down in front of the TV and set the remote beside him, close enough so he could work it with his tongue. As it turned out, we had the same taste in television too. I was gonna need a raise to pay for all the porn he’d ordered, though.

In my free time, what little I had, I practiced using my newfound magic. Baalth gave me just enough to cast spells—simple bolts of energy and the like—but apparently the skill to wield it comes from somewhere less apparent. It was easy to pull the trigger, but my aim and intensity left a lot to be desired. There were a few minor mishaps where I torched the walls black in the shielded basement, but nothing got too out of hand. I was slowly getting better, but it’d be a long time before I got good.

Worn out from my attempts to harness my energies, I was kicking back with a beer, watching the fights with Chatterbox when I heard a loud crash outside. The house sensors murmured a quiet alert just before the doorknob jiggled.

Too tired to risk using my magic, I snatched up my gun and went to the door. A loud, booming knock met me halfway there. I cast a quick glance up at the camera monitor placed near the door, and sighed, slipping my gun into the waistband of my jeans.

Whipping the door open in a huff, I asked, “What do you—” The rest of my sentence died on my tongue when I saw her.

Scarlett, her blond hair singed with black and pieces torn out in chunks, stood before me. Her face was stained with crusted blood, dark scabs forming over the deep gouges running down her neck, to her chest. Her blue eyes were streaked with red, deep black circles beneath them. Her clothes were shredded in places, black and yellow bruises peeking out from beneath.

She looked at me, tears welling up in her eyes. In a rush, she grabbed my shoulders, her hands shaking and cold, her grip fierce.

“I need your help,” she gasped, her voice crackling like a forest fire. “Heaven has fallen.”

About the Author:

Raised on a diet of Heavy Metal and bad intentions, Tim Marquitz has always been interested in writing, but it wasn’t until about 1995 the urge became a compulsion. However, it would be many years later before the ability matched the interest. Fortunately, the two have reconciled...mostly.

Writing a mix of the dark perverse, the horrific, and the tragic, tinged with sarcasm and biting humor, he looks to leave a gaping wound in the minds of his readers like his inspirations: Clive Barker, Jim Butcher, and Stephen King.

A former grave digger, bouncer, and dedicated metalhead, Tim is a huge fan of Mixed Martial Arts, and fighting in general. Involved in the Live Action Role Playing organization, Amtgard, since he was fifteen, he derives great pleasure from bashing people into submission.

He lives in Texas with his beautiful wife and daughter, a neurotic dog and their finger-crippling cat.

Other books by Tim Marquitz from Damnation Books:

Demon Squad: Armageddon Bound

Sepulchral Earth: The Long Road

Sepulchral Earth: The Temple of the Dead

Skulls

Also from Damnation Books:

Skulls

by Tim Marquitz

eBook ISBN: 9781615723539

Print ISBN: 9781615723546

Horror Supernatural

Novella of 41,052 words

Life held little interest for Jacob…until he found death.

Abused and neglected, Jacob’s only solace comes when he is alone in the woods or in the arms of his new girlfriend. But when he stumbles across a hidden bunker filled with human skulls, he learns what true suffering is. Drawn to examine the skulls, he finds there is more than just empty blackness behind their lifeless stares. Through their eyes he watches them die.

With every glance, he witnesses another murder, the memories of the dead playing out inside his mind until reality becomes a blur. A primal cruelty awakening, Jacob returns to the morbid comfort of the skulls, over and over again. But when he happens upon a fresh skull, a victim tortured and slain for his amusement alone, he knows his time has come. Face to face with death, Jacob must choose whether to resist the darkness that dwells inside or condemn himself forever, murdering his innocence on the edge of an axe.

Also from Damnation Books:

The Banishing

by Fiona Dodwell

eBook ISBN: 9781615723515

Print ISBN: 9781615723522

Horror

Novel of 64,274 words

When Melissa first notices the change in her husband - subtle at first - she thinks it may be the stress of moving into their new home. Or working long hours. But soon her husband turns into something far darker, far more sinister. Who or what is the dark shadow living beneath her husband? What is haunting him? Melissa must quickly find the answer to these questions, because Mark is changing, and fast. Soon her fight will be for her life, as well as for her marriage.

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