Roaring Blood (Demon-Hearted Book 2) (7 page)

Kubo and Amundsen weren't laughing, though. For the first time in a while I saw Kubo go pale. He stepped away from the bed and nearly bumped into Dr. Sargasso as he wandered in with a cart full of supplies.

“Hello, Lucian,” said the doctor. He smiled warmly, his voice as soothing and calm as ever. This was the guy who'd put the demon's heart in me to begin with, and he approached the bed slowly, perhaps fearing that I'd lash out at him. I hadn't seen him for a while; not since losing control and accidentally smacking him in the face with a length of chain. His cheek bore a small scar for that blow, and I guess he wasn't interested in another assault. “May I see the wound?” He licked his lips, squatting down to take a peek at my side.

I pulled up my shirt to let him have a look.

“Oh, dear,” he said, shoving the cart away. “That's no good.”

“What's the matter?” asked Amundsen. “Can't you stitch it up?”

Kubo was still pacing around the other side of the room, lost in his thoughts. Joe straddled one of the chairs and watched him, growing twitchier.

“This wound,” began the doctor, “isn't a normal, everyday kind of wound. Stitches won't fix it. We'll need a specialist. You see, the demon is capable of healing wounds caused by
common
weapons. But whatever caused this damage is very clearly a cursed weapon of some sort, and the energies of that weapon are clashing with Lucian's ability to heal. The two forces are struggling against one another. The wound wants to seal like usual, but the scourge of the weapon won't allow it.”

“He's been cursed, then?” asked Amundsen.

Dr. Sargasso nodded. “The curse must be lifted. When that's done the wound will close on its own. I suggest you take him to a specialist at once.”

I smirked. “A specialist? What, do you guys have a healthcare system or something? Do they take insurance, or--”

“You'll need to go and see Mona,” replied the doctor. “She should be able to lift the curse. Then your body will handle the rest.”

Mona. My favorite snake lady. The old witch lived in some sort of parallel dimension, some pocket of the Beyond, located in an alley running behind Yao's, a Chinese restaurant. Mona was the Veiled Order's ace, their Swiss Army knife. When things went to shit, we paid Mona a visit and hoped she could fix it. She was damned good at what she did, a talented witch. Apparently she could lift curses, too.

The thing about Mona, though, is that she's kind of terrible to look at. Human only from the waist up-- and only barely, at that-- she moved around by means of a large, green serpent's tail. Just thinking about her forked tongue, about her stubby, atrophied hands touching my body, made me recoil with disgust. If Mona could patch me up, though, I was game. The wound hurt awfully and the sooner we fixed it, the sooner I could get back on the trail.

Because, believe me, I was going to settle the score.

The necromancer had gotten one over on me. He was good. I'm not too proud to give credit where it's due. But what I'd lacked in skill back there, I intended to make up for in persistence. I wouldn't sleep, wouldn't eat, till I had the necromancer's head on my mantle.

That was a lie. The minute this wound was healed I'd likely hit up Yao's for a platter of pork dumplings and a cold beer.

But after that, for sure. I'd be relentless.

There was a commotion in the hallway as the dead commando was hauled up into the medical wing. Medics carried the poor guy in on a gurney, his guts swinging around the sides and painting the floor with blood. It was a lost cause; he'd been dead since the second he'd been struck by the necromancer's blade, slit crotch to mouth. Most of his vitals were probably still scattered throughout the graveyard. If I hadn't interfered with the necromancer's assault, then that commando might've been brought back as one of the undead.

“Tattoos?” asked Kubo, finally pausing. “You're sure? He was very tall and had tattoos on his face? Small ones... magical symbols?” He crossed his arms and waited expectantly for my reply.

“Yup.”

Kubo grunted, turning to Amundsen. “I'll get him off to Mona's, but first we need to verify this. Let's take him to the file room.”

Amundsen nodded.

The Chief and Amundsen led Joe and I out of the medical wing. I was given a handful of thick gauze and a long, flexible bandage to stymy the bleeding, but I wasn't a few steps out of my room before they were soaked through. Joe and I followed the two of them into the elevator, and Kubo punched the button for the sub-basement.

The sub-basement was a place I'd never been before. I figured it was full of maintenance equipment, possibly home to a boiler room or something, but in reality it looked much like the rest of the joint. There was a long hallway lined in black doors, and Kubo led the charge towards one on the far left side. Stepping inside, I found it cluttered from floor to ceiling with file cabinets and shelves of books.

“What is this place?” I asked. “A library or something?”

Kubo replied distantly, hopping onto a step ladder and pulling open a couple of drawers. “Something like that. This is where we keep records of different cases and targets. Don't touch anything. I don't want you bleeding all over sensitive documents.”

I frowned. “I'm touched, chief. Thanks for your concern. Tell me, have you guys ever heard of
computers?
All of this info could be stored on a single machine, you know that? I love the low-tech thing you've got going on here, but it's inefficient.”

Amundsen stood by in silence.

“Shut up, Lucy,” mumbled Joe. “This is serious. No time to be giving the Chief shit.”

Kubo hopped down from the ladder with a file folder in hand. He pulled it open, scanned it with his narrowed eyes for a moment, and then threw it down on a table. “Have a look, Lucy. Is this the guy who attacked you?”

I ambled towards the table and had a seat. Leaning over the file, I glanced at the picture, only to find the necromancer staring back at me. It was a clear, black and white photo of the guy. His features were every bit as rough and slate-like as they'd been back at the cemetery, and the tattoos stood in prominent contrast to his pale flesh. I eyed his visage, studied the symbols written across his countenance and felt my stomach churn. “That's the guy. I'm positive.”

Kubo rubbed at his chin, his broad shoulders drooping. “I was afraid you'd say that.”

NINE

The guy's name was listed as “Agamemnon”.

“Is this his real name?” I asked, arching a brow. “Because if it is, his parents were assholes. Imagine sending your little tyke off to Necromancer School. No way that a Kindergartener's going to be able to remember how to spell that mess. And what kind of nickname can you come up with for a name like that? 'Hey there,
Aggy?
' 'How's it hangin',
Memnon?
' Just doesn't work.”

Kubo picked up the file and flipped through it. “We don't know his real name. Frankly, we know next to nothing about him. This man surfaced more than twenty years ago. Ended up on the Order's radar for practicing necromancy. Necromancy is, to put it lightly, taboo. It's a forbidden art, and anyone with more than innocent scholarly interest in it ends up on our watch-list. This guy, though, was something of a religious zealot. Got picked up for raising the dead and recruiting them as soldiers for a supposed war in the name of the god of the dead. He got locked up, shuttled away to some dark corner for his agenda.”

I sniffed the air, standing up and pushing the chair back in. “Right, so why was he in the graveyard tonight?”

“Because ten years ago,” began Amundsen, “Agamemnon escaped.”

I chuckled. “For a minute there, I thought you were going to tell me this guy was once on the Veiled Order's payroll. He broke out of the pokey though, huh?”

“When one escapes into the Beyond, it is difficult to track them. The world of the Beyond is vast, Lucian,” explained Amundsen. “We had feelers out, but he was a low-level criminal. Though a necromancer, the organization had more pressing threats to address. He faded into obscurity, surfacing once every few years but never stirring up enough trouble to warrant a deeper investigation. When bodies turned up missing here in Detroit and the dead were found to walk the Earth, I suspected he might be behind it. Necromancy is an incredibly rare skill. Its forbidden nature makes it a hard thing to learn. Schools of necromancy exist only on the fringe, are hard to access. Somewhere along the line, Agamemnon picked up those skills. And it seems he's been honing them all this time, in the underground. Now he's resurfaced, announced himself, and it's quite possible that his old plans of waging a war with an army of the dead have been put into motion. I can think of no other reason why he might be pillaging the city's graves.”

Kubo tossed aside the file folder. “Agamemnon's the only practitioner in centuries to bring this sort of death magic to the world of men. The Veiled Order hasn't had to take out a necromancer since before the days of the Inquisition. This is a big deal, and if we aren't careful, word's going to get around about this. Agamemnon could blow our operations wide open and reveal to the general population the existence of a world beyond the one they know. It would be pandemonium. Not to mention the fact that, if he gets his way, he'll have many thousands of powerful zombies to do his bidding. Imagine the havoc he could wreak.” He cracked his knuckles and took to pacing. “Detroit, I'm sure, is only his first stop.”

I was listening. To be sure, this was all riveting and I love learning about my enemies as much as the next guy. The constant throb in my side was making it really hard to focus, though. My vision was getting a little spotty, and the pain was getting hard to handle. “Good stuff, Chief,” I managed. “Can we... can we do something about this cut now? It hurts like hell. Getting worse, actually.”

Amundsen rushed for the door. “I'll bring a medic at once.”

“No,” snapped Kubo. “We'll get him off to Mona's. We're leaving now. Joe, help Lucy along. I'll drive.”

Joe offered me his arm and I took it like an old lady crossing a busy street. “How sweet of you,” I said. “You're a regular boy scout, Joe. There's a shiny nickel in store for you if you can get me all the way to the SUV.”

“Shut up and walk, dude,” said Joe, quickening his pace.

The three of us left Amundsen in the file room and made haste to the parking lot outside. Kubo unlocked one of several parked SUVs and hopped into the driver's seat while Joe loaded me into the back like an invalid. I sprawled out across the seat, feeling dizzy. I blinked, trying to focus on the glowing dome light, but couldn't get my eyes to work. Vision was blurry, doubled, and the pain in my side was getting to be unbearable. My heart was crashing against my ribcage; Gadreel was feeling the full weight of this curse as well.

As soon as the doors were shut, Kubo tore out of the parking lot and headed for Yao's. “Hang in there, Lucy. We're going to see what Mona can do about this,” said Joe from the passenger seat. He reached back and touched my shoulder.

That was the last thing I heard. It was at that moment that I lost consciousness.

***

When next I awoke I got an eyeful of Mona.

A groan left my lips as her withered, stubby hands patted my bare torso. “Oh,” she said, appraising me with beady eyes. “I see you're awake. Quite a lot of trouble you've gotten yourself into this time.”

I stared up at the ceiling. There was a dim light glowing there. My body was drenched in sweat, and I could feel my bare back sticking to the wooden table. The curious sounds and smells of Mona's workshop teased my senses. From afar came the rattling of a cage and the squawking of something like a bird. I heard something bubbling, too. Acrid smoke reached my nostrils, and I began to cough. “What happened?”

From somewhere in the room, Kubo chimed in. “Your ass passed out. That wound just about ruined you. Good thing we got you to Mona when we did, else you might've been a goner.”

I'd only been conscious for a minute or so, but that didn't sound right. “That ain't right. I've got a demon's heart. I can't
die
.”

Mona loosed a small chuckle and shook her head. The white shock of hair she wore drooped down against her shoulders. “Oh, you certainly
can
die. A Demon-Heart is difficult to kill, but you aren't immortal.”

Well, color me disappointed. This was just about the most unwelcome news I could imagine. Finding out that I was still technically a mortal-- albeit a super-powered one-- was a downer. A real slap in the face. “Wish I'd known that sooner. I thought I was supposed to be unkillable, goddammit.”

“You're resilient,” explained Mona. “Impervious to most attacks, it's true. Like I said, you're
hard
to kill, but not invulnerable. And, frankly, there isn't a lot out there that
won't
die when cut by the Scythe of Thanatos.”

“The Scythe of what?” I sat up on my elbows, catching a glimpse of my side. When last I'd been conscious there'd been a nasty, aggravated wound there. It was gone now, the flesh pristine. Come to think of it, the pain was gone, too. In a silver bowl near the table I spotted something large and black. It was a mass of flesh, covered in small lumps, and it
pulsated
as though alive. The bowl was half-filled in what I took to be my blood, and I could only guess that this disgusting thing had been pulled out of me. “What the hell is
that?
” I asked, positive that I wouldn't care for the answer.

“Oh,” replied the old witch, picking up the bowl. “It's a tumor of a kind. It's a symptom specific to this particular weapon. The Scythe of Thanatos lays a curse on those who are cut by it. That curse manifests physically as a tumor, which shuts down the body's ability to heal. If the initial cut doesn't kill you, the tumor's rapid growth certainly will-- and it'll make sure you can't heal up the wound, all but ensuring your suffering till the end.”

“Rad.” I poked my newly-healed flesh with my finger and then swung my legs around, sitting at the edge of Mona's table. “Well, as usual, I owe you one, Mona. Thanks.”

“It's no problem,” she assured me. “Though, what we really need to be asking ourselves is how someone got ahold of such a weapon in the first place. I don't imagine you met the god of death himself on the battlefield, did you?”