Death's Apprentice: A Grimm City Novel (15 page)

“I wish it were that easy.” He looked down at the stitches in the overcoat he wore. “And maybe if I were smarter, I’d take your advice. But I’m not, and I can’t. So, I’ll just ask you this: do you know where the Devil lives?”

“Other than in the hearts of men?” The priest shook his head. “No … I don’t. Nobody does.”

“But he lives here in this city. I know that.”

“But those are just tales. Legends…” The priest gave a shrug. “Maybe they’re true, maybe not.”

“I just need an address, that’s all.”

“But who could give you one? The only people who might have it are those poor fools who bartered their souls to him. And they’re all too much in his debt to betray him.”

“Because they’re scared of him.” A current of anger moved inside Blake. “Everybody in this crummy town is. Including you. Hell, the Devil could be living in the building right next door, you could’ve seen him going in and out—and you still wouldn’t say a word.”

“That’s a little harsh,” said the priest. “You should understand—people need to be careful.”

“Yeah, well, the only problem with being careful is, that’s how the Devil stays in power. That’s how he runs this place. He’s got his boot on everyone’s throat in this city—and everybody pretends like he doesn’t even exist. Like somehow, if they don’t talk about him, things won’t get worse.” Blake’s matted dreadlocks brushed his shoulders as he shook his head in disgust. “As if that were even possible.”

The priest said nothing.

“Okay.” Blake stood up. “Thanks for your help. I mean that.”

The priest followed him along the nave as he headed for the church’s door. “If there’s ever anything else…”

He stopped and looked back at the priest, then nodded. “There might be,” he said. “Someday.” He pushed open the door and stepped out into the chill night.

“Please—” The priest called after him. “I understand what you’re trying to do. But it’s not too late to reconsider. Violence won’t solve anything—”

Blake paid no attention to the other man. He found himself again looking at the statue of the archangel Michael.
A soldier,
he suddenly realized.
Like me.
That’s what the angel was. With shield and armor, fighting the great enemy. The same thing that he was trying to fight—he could almost hear Michael urging him on, a comrade in the struggle.

But there was a difference between the two of them; he could see that as well. The archangel had a spear, a magnificent thing with flaming blades at either end, burning with the fires of Heaven.
But what do I have?
Nothing but his own bare hands, begrimed with dirt and dried blood. For armor he had only the Devil’s own overcoat, encasing him in its evil and despair.

He lowered his eyes, catching sight of his reflection in the stone font. A disgusting image, with its long, matted hair and hideous face. How was something as degraded and loathsome as that supposed to fight the Devil? Weaponless and alone, with no comrades but those that marched silently through his guilt-wracked memories.

But he had no choice, he knew, except to continue. He turned and stepped toward the dark street, ready to continue his search. He halted, realizing that something strange had just happened.

Glancing over his shoulder, Blake saw that the font’s water still held his reflection, as though he had not turned away at all. His shadow still fell across the font’s base.

He looked inside the church and saw the priest caught in midstride, one hand reaching out, his mouth open with the last word he had spoken. Pulse accelerating, Blake turned back toward the street and saw a handful of scattered passersby, each frozen in place, as though he were looking at a photograph of the scene. Even the slanting streaks of rain were stopped in their descent, hanging in the air like dirty streamers.

His thoughts raced in sudden panic.
What the hell…?

“We need to talk, Blake.”

The words caught him by surprise. Bracing for an attack, he scanned the area and saw one figure standing in the middle of the street, looking straight at him. A kid, maybe seventeen or eighteen years old, hair weirdly undampened by the rain, though he stood in the middle of it with the collar of his black leather jacket turned up.

“Don’t freak out.” The kid raised a hand to gesture at the street around him. “I stopped Time so we could have some privacy. It won’t hurt you. And neither will I.”

Blake glared at the kid, ready for anything. “Who the hell are you?”

“My name’s Nathaniel.” He walked toward the church. “You don’t know me—but I know you. I know about the cage you were locked in, the deaths of your men, and the boy who blew up the market. I know that the Devil tricked you. And I know that you came back here for revenge.”

“Maybe…” Blake’s expression grew heavy and dark. “You know too much.”

“Maybe I do.” The kid smiled widely, and hopped up onto the church’s porch. “But I’m on your side. I know about that coat you’re wearing, too, and what the Devil tried to do when he put you in it. But most importantly of all, Blake, I know that despite the way you feel, you’re a very lucky man.”

“Lucky…”
Blake felt his eyes narrowing. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“I wish it were,” said the kid. “But where souls are concerned, I’m deadly serious. I may work for a different master, but I’m aware of the laws that govern what the Devil can do. And those laws have saved you, Blake. Up to a point…” The kid raised a finger, pointing out through the motionless rain. “Remember back in Afghanistan? If the Devil had been there for
you
instead of the boy that night, your soul would have been completely lost the moment you agreed to accept his help. But instead, he just used you as an instrument. You were the tool for him. Not the prize itself. So, since you never shook his hand or consciously did what he wanted of you, he was only able to take away half your soul, instead of the whole thing.”

Blake’s glower deepened. “Half my soul?”

“And what’s worse, because he sidetracked Purgatory that way, he was able to take that lost half away with him, straight down to Hell. Without any kind of trial. That’s left you changed, Blake. Forever. It turned you into what we call a wraith.”

Blake eyed the kid. “A what?”

“A wraith.” Nathaniel took another step into the porch. “Have you ever wondered why it is you can’t die?”

“Every day.”

“Well, it’s because you’re half dead already. Half dead, and half alive, and you will be for the rest of time unless you find a way to change it. It’s an evil curse, and the Devil uses it to stop the people he’s tricked from ever coming after him. You’re not the first one he’s done it to. And you won’t be the last. But what makes you special, Blake, is the fact that you’ve managed to fight it—even though I can sense the evil of that coat from here.”

Blake wondered if he could trust the kid. Popping out of nowhere, knowing all kinds of stuff. He looked back to the scene outside.
The Kid’s stopped Time, but I’m still moving. If he’d wanted to, he could have hurt me. And those things he just said … Somehow they ring true …

Blake narrowed his gaze. “So you’re saying that the Devil has taken half of my soul to Hell?”

Nathaniel nodded. “It’s burning down there even as we speak—screaming in agony with the rest of those voices you can hear. And as for the half that’s left behind … It’s locked inside the coat you’re wearing. The only reason the coat hasn’t suffocated you yet is because your soul is too strong for it. Even though there’s only half of it left over, your soul is still bright enough to resist the shroud. That makes you something special, Blake. It makes you unique. Like me.”

Blake ran his hand slowly along the front of the stitched-up overcoat.
A shroud … Yeah, that sounds about right.…

“And that thing is alive, too,” explained Nathaniel. “It’s been created directly from the Devil’s own evil. A work of genius, really. But so cruel…” He eyed the garment warily, disgusted and fascinated at the same time. “You don’t think that I could maybe … touch it, do you?”

“I wouldn’t…” warned Blake.

Too late. Nathaniel’s fingertips grazed the overcoat’s blood-crusted lapel for only a second. But that was enough to send a visible shock wave convulsing through the kid’s body. His spine arched, head thrown back, teeth clenching as his eyes flooded with darkness. Looking down at himself, Blake could see the coat’s stiff, grimy fabric seething with its own hideous animation, the hairlike tendrils coiling around Nathaniel’s fingertips, seeking to feed upon him. The skin of his hand paled white, as though his soul were being consumed as well.

With a muted cry, Nathaniel jerked his hand away. The desperate motion took the last of his strength. He fell backward, the overcoat’s grasp upon him broken.

Blake looked down at the figure writhing on the church’s porch. Until the kid was still at last. Either dead, or freed.

After a few seconds, he saw Nathaniel’s chest slowly lifting with one slow breath after another. He reached down, carefully taking the kid’s hand and drawing him up onto his feet.

“Damn!” Nathaniel swayed unsteadily, fighting to keep his balance. He shook his hand, as though it had been burned. His eyes widened as he stared at Blake. “That’s…”

“What?” Blake leaned toward the trembling figure in front of him. “Did you see something?”

“Too much.” Nathaniel slowly shook his head. “I saw … visions. Terrible things. It was like … like I was looking directly into his heart.” His eyes locked on to Blake’s again. “How do you …
endure
it?”

Blake didn’t answer.
To be honest,
he thought,
I don’t even know myself …

He looked Nathaniel in the eye again. “Why are you here?”

“I’m here—” Nathaniel’s voice was still shaking from the shock of what he’d seen. “Because I need your help. There’s someone I need to save. A kidnapped baby. Her name is Ren-Lei. And considering where she’s being kept, I’m not sure if my powers are enough to save her on my own. I can do some cool stuff, I know. But if it comes to a fight, I’d prefer to have someone by my side who has some experience.”

Blake acknowledged the compliment. “And this baby, you know who’s taken her?”

“Yeah, I do. So if you agree, I can take us there without a problem.” He paused. “And in return for saving her, I promise to do something for you, too.”

Blake eyed him more closely. “Like what?”

“Like helping you find the man you’re looking for.”

“The Devil?”

Nathaniel nodded. “Help me save Ren-Lei, and I’ll bring you face to face with him before the end of the night.”

It’s a trick,
thought Blake.
It has to be. There’s no other way I could get such a lucky break
. Except—

He had no other choice. He was no closer to finding the Devil now than when he had started out. And if he didn’t—

Then he would be like this, forever. Locked in the coat’s dark, consuming embrace. A wraith, a thing with only half a soul.

“All right … I’ll give it a shot.” Blake narrowed his gaze and glanced back to his own grim reflection in the font’s stilled water. “But tell me one thing, before we start. This half of my soul that the Devil has stolen. Would it return me to how I was before? Could it turn me back again, into something normal?”

“I think so…,” said Nathaniel. “But I guess it all depends.”

“On what?”

Nathaniel raised a hand to restart Time. The figures outside began to walk again, going about their business. He watched them for a moment, then turned back to the man beside him.

“On whether or not you can get the Devil to hand it over.”

12.

The blossoms had already fled from the tree. Leaving behind on the green-decked branches small shapes that seemed to swell larger even as the people in the garden looked at them. The peach tree’s fruit ripened and grew heavier, their juices sweetening with life, the rain coursing across their bright yellow curves.

From the office tower’s window far above, the Devil scowled fiercely down at the crowd. Their mere presence, even at this distance, infuriated him. If he could, he would have stretched down his arm and gathered them all into his fist, squeezing the lifeblood from their mangled bodies.

Below, the garden square was now a thing of beauty, its stones swept clean, lush grass trimmed, borders thick with flowers. The mingled scents rose on the air, seeping into the tower’s air-conditioning vents and nauseating him with traces of approaching spring. Even worse, the once-abandoned square was now filled with humanity.

He had sent the building guards to chase them away, but to no avail. They just returned, as though summoned by the welcoming reach of the peach tree’s branches. The crowds had gotten so large that they had begun spilling into the streets around the base of the office tower, like some happy contagion.

“Don’t these people have jobs?” muttered the Devil. They should have all been crouched over sewing machines in sweatshops lit by sickly fluorescent lights, or scavenging toxic metals from discarded circuit boards, out in the landfill dumps that surrounded the city. Anything productive and degrading, rather than down there, savoring the simple pleasures of existence.

The rage inside the Devil mounted, as though its flames might kindle every fiber of his being. Bad enough that the people in the garden square were happy—some of them were more than that. He could see their faces glowing with reverence, as though they had come here on a pilgrimage, to witness a miracle happening in a sacred shrine. Some of the people in the garden square even had lit candles, sheltering the small flames from the wind with their cupped hands. The sight served to increase the Devil’s nauseated disgust—he could feel his scowl tightening on his face, like a Japanese
Oni
mask.

He went on brooding in the office’s silence. A few minutes later, he heard the outer lobby door open again. Maybe his secretary had forgotten something and come back for it.

“I beg your pardon, sir.” A female voice spoke at his office door. “I don’t wish to intrude—but there’s someone here to see you.”