Bones and Bagger (Waldlust Series Book 1) (26 page)

Probably best to leave the grudges until I could hear my own thoughts. More snaps for the German engineers because the alarm shifted in waves of increasing and decreasing intensity. 
Lovely
.  I got that cyclic, post-hard night out feeling.  You know.  I’m going to puke.  No I’m not. Yes I am. No I’m not.  And on and on it goes until you throw your guts just to get off the wave.

I didn’t know how much vomit-encrusted bones were worth on the demon market so blocked out the alarm as best I could and I ripped the coffin lid open.  Those who value purity in art should shut their eyes and ears for the next few seconds, because I’m about to tell you how badly I bent the metal by removing the lid. 

I bent the metal.  So deal with it.  The squeamish can return.

In deference to art preservation I did prop the lid up against the box rather than flinging it across the length of the cathedral to watch it explode against the stone wall on the other side.  The alarm drove me nearly bananas and it took a lot of effort for me to hold back smashing everything within in reach.  Like Chucky’s dry bones, for example.

Chapter 35

Who knows what to expect when you open a sarcophagus that’s been sealed for more than a thousand years?  A skull, a pile of gray bones, a black cloth—monk’s robe?—and an ornately decorated leather bag.  Even in the cacophony I detected an anomaly inside the box. 

Why the purple leather bag?
 

Better yet, why should I care? I was looking down on what I needed, the bag was just a distraction.   Helmet’s web surfing provided a lot of background on Chucky.  Legends said he’s sitting in wait to lead the German people in their time of greatest need.  False.  Chucky was laying in dry heap that even Madonna’s expensive face creams couldn’t moisturize.

I manned up and conquered the icky factor as I scooped Chuck into the three-ply trash bag Bernard provided while we stood behind the sports car. I think I got enough of him to close the deal with both sets of bad guys, though only one could end up with the prize.  I planned on giving the losers little more than a sniff to compel them to return what I wanted.  Bernard’s planning left much to be desired in that area.  Maybe he never expected me to get that far.

As I said, I’d pulled most of Chucky out of his box. Bernard didn’t think to supply me with a battery powered vacuum cleaner so some of Chucky would need to remain behind.  It would make the Germans happy because they’d still have part of their hero to worship.

The whole jump, smash, icky-not-want-to-touch-bones-with-my-bare-hands moment, and grab lasted ninety seconds tops.  Perhaps I should thank the alarm-manufacturer for the motivation.  Speaking of the alarm, my sensitive hearing distinguished a new wavy sound getting louder.  This one originated outside the cathedral and indicated the Polizei had ordered their brats to go. 

So in addition to my confused urgency supercharged by the screaming alarm I had at least half a dozen cars driven by angry men and women with mustard splotching their shirts speeding toward me. Me and Chucky, if you dwell on technicalities.  OK.  OK. Chucky and me.

I’d done enough damage to the casket to last the next thousand years, so I decided to leave replacing the lid to the guys with lab coats and cotton gloves.  The black robe and purple leather bag caught my eye as I flexed my legs to vamoose.  What the heck.  I reached into the casket and grabbed them both.

They came up light and easy and I spent no more time admiring the artwork on the bag than I did the craftsmanship of the casket.  And it
was
artwork.  From what I saw in the quick glimpse, a combination of Egyptian-looking hieroglyphs and Hebraic text. Interesting, but not so compelling as to make me lose track of the alarm inside the cathedral as it beat my eardrums to jelly and the sirens outside that indicated a potentially abrupt ending to my bromance with Chucky.

The leather bag was pliable enough, so I loosened my belt and wedged it underneath.  Along with the black cloth.  Not an ideal situation, but I didn’t care if I lost it in the portal.  Chucky’s bones? Different story.  I’d keep my hands on him through the entire process.  I slung the plastic bag over my shoulder and jumped down from the raised platform and its empty casket.

If entering the building didn’t require stealth then I could apply that double for exiting.  The time arrived for full speed ahead, launch the armada, and break out the battering ram.  I decided not to pause for opening the door.  Instead, I’d run through it like a battleship cuts through water.  Perhaps I could surprise the mercenaries waiting outside with my speed and the shower of splinters.  They’d only have a second or two to aim and fire before I would be nothing more than a dot on the horizon.

No need to lower my head or lead with my shoulder.  I was a two-hundred-pound missile rocketing straight to the door.  I shifted Chucky to make sure he wouldn’t absorb any of the impact.  Spilling his dry bones across the marketplace when I stood so close to victory would represent the missing ingredient to end a perfect day.

The door stood a few feet ahead.  My night vision revealed every bit of it—thick wood and broad iron fittings.  Didn’t slow me a bit.  If anything, I accelerated the last few feet in anticipation of powdering all that carpentry and maintaining the speed outside for the time I’d be the lone skinny deer in front of a hundred drunken hunters.

I did close my eyes the instant before impact.  It’s probably coded in our DNA to do things like that.  Involuntary.  When I opened them again, I found myself in another world.

Not another world so much as a different dimension.  Oh, and I never splintered the wooden door.  Architectural historians everywhere can rejoice.  I did run face-first into some sort of force field.  Hit it hard and bounced back to the ground.  I’m thinking the five-inch thick door I intended to crush with my unprotected body would have felt like a pillow in comparison.

I opened my eyes and the mercenaries opened fire.  If I’d known it worked like that I’d have kept my eyes closed.  They concentrated on my torso and the shots ended in a one-foot diameter grouping with my heart as the center.  The guys were professionals.  Interesting to note, but knowing it was the best of the best shooting at me didn’t make the bullets hurt any less.

Lucky for me they aimed for the heart and not the head.  I’d worn the vest Bernard offered back at the car.  And speaking of Bernard, wasn’t his
only
role supposed to be keeping this crowd off me? Little twit was probably discussing the Pythagorean Theorem with a street sweeper.  I mean, he’d prevented like
NOBODY
from having a go at me with fully automatic assault weapons.

I was down and bleeding.  Not as much from bullet wounds as striking the barrier while running like a hairy-bottomed idiot.  I decided to do the possum act—pretend they’d gotten their vampire and jump up to resume the fight when I heard them approach for the final kill.  They’d still have weapons trained on me but I thought I could move quick enough to get in among them and make shooting a poor option.

For some reason, nobody approached.  There’s never an executioner around when you need one.

“You can get up now.”

Deep voice.  Strained.  Sounded Like the guy sat on the toilet with a particularly troublesome load to deliver.  No Face.

“Not till you wipe,” I said.  I’d seen a lot in my life but that was one thing I didn’t want to watch.

Either my reference flew right over the demon or No Face did as I instructed, because he didn’t say anything more for a minute or two.  I waited to hear the sound of a toilet flushing.  When it didn’t come I opened my eyes and stood up.

It didn’t take Scotland Yard to tell me I’d run through the demon portal.  The place still approximated the inside of the Aachen Cathedral, except the black curtains covering the walls were back.  I could also see the lit area in the distance where the painting of “Demon’s Night Out Starring the Bagger Gang” hung. There was one huge difference from my previous visit. 

No Face upgraded the security in the past several hours.  A red-metal cage surrounded me.  I looked up to the ceiling.  The bars extended all the way to the dome.  No jumping over them and out of the thing. 

I reached out a hand to test bar strength. 

“
I
wouldn’t do that,” said No Face.  “But
you
can go ahead.”

He sounded pleased with the thought of me touching those bars.  Anything that made No Face happy wouldn’t be good for me.

“Why not?” I said.

“Hellfire.” And then, “Take a closer look.”

I did as suggested and saw the bars weren’t made of metal at all.  The material looked a lot like individual laser beams.  They rose from the floor in parallel lines up to the roof.  Another line of bars crossed in rows.  I moved my hand closer and felt intense heat.

“You would end up melting my supper,” said No Face.

A million comedians on earth out of work and I had to run into one of them in hell.  Wasn’t this my lucky day. 

“Why the cage?” I said.  “Scared of me?”

No Face snorted something that sounded like a laugh.

“Scared of you, vampire?” he said. “Not at all.”

“I ask you again, Mestephos,” I said, “why the cage.”

No Face responded to his name as if I’d shoved a hot railroad spike into his ear.

“Do not call me that,” he said.  And then, “Because, vampire, I was ordered to do such.”

Even supernatural beings needed to kiss a few butts every now and then.  I didn’t want to think about the specific keister on No Face’s smooching card. That meant I actually
did
think about it and I saw a big, scarred, pimply, hairy demon butt appear in my mind. I couldn’t stop myself.

“And who gives you those orders?”  I said. 

I didn’t know why I kept trying to keep the conversation going because, given I was trapped inside an impenetrable cage woven of fire from the pits of hell, I probably needed to devote more focus on immediate matters.

“I do,” said a voice from back in the darkness.

Chapter 36

English with a foreign accent.  Not German.  I could identify a German accent under anesthesia and with both ears plugged.  If forced to bet on a region of the world, I’d say mid-east.

A petite man came into the light.  He wore a perfectly-tailored suit and a black, closely-cropped beard outlined his face. Half the bastards who shot me ringed the little guy like he was Justin Bieber…only those particular bastards didn’t look at all like the mercenaries I expected.  They looked regular army—perhaps special operations.  Not the German army, but definitely an elite unit from the Middle East.  If any such unit could exist.

“And you are?” I said.

“You can call me the Prince of the One True Way.”

“A bit long,” I said.

Why do I continually find myself hooked up with these kinds of looney tunes?  In addition to the beard my guy wore a dark complexion.  As did his tough guys.  Definitely Middle East and I’d bet a month’s worth of grocery tips this crowd didn’t celebrate Hanukkah.

“And the prince thing,” I said, “The job’s already taken.”

I nodded at the demon art nailed to the wall a few feet away.

Prince One Way grinned.  I smiled back. First impressions are important and we seemed to have hit it off nicely with each other.  The guys surrounding Prince One Way didn’t smile at all.  Perhaps they needed socialization therapy.  Or just a bit longer to warm up to me.  If my blood lust had its way, they’d end up with a few vacancies in that unit. 

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” said another voice.

Was this hell or a comedy club?

Voice number two came into the light.  Give me one guess and I could tell you where he came from.  Bullet head, closed-cropped hair, eyes the color of ice.  The man wore a casual getup that probably cost more than my last ten dates.  Of course, most of them were in the 1920’s and a buck went a lot further back then.

“And you are?” I said.

“Valerey,” he said.  “And leave it open for me to add something fancy later. Everybody needs a name like their parents were stupid.”

Big dude with a girl’s name.  Either his parents really
were
stupid, or he was Russian.

A posh Arab prince and a Russian dude.  Most certainly a rich Russian guy.  Val’s own army came up behind him.  These guys didn’t look as well-manicured as those of Prince One Way’s, but what they lacked in style they more than made up for in deadly.  Prince One Way’s guys pulled off the tough look.  But then, so could George Clooney.  If they paid him enough, adjusted the camera angle, and if you suspended disbelief.  Val’s guys?  They understood it wasn’t about posing.  But hadn’t that been the way with the Spetsnaz?  One of their fighters equaled ten of One Way’s.

So I’d finally met Soyla’s masters.  I didn’t know how they linked up with her, I just knew they used her to keep me off balance. Neither the Arab nor the Russian guy could have known anything about me without help from inside the vampire community.  I doubted they’d met Soyla before this all began.  She’d have searched them out and made a proposal…something involving Charlemagne’s bones.

How she came up with a story compelling enough to unite these two traditional enemies—religion and communism—and get demons involved?  I’d need to think on that one.  It didn’t sound like Soyla to me.  Send a few dozen centerfold shots to a guy to bilk him out of a few thousand dollars?  Soyla.  But a shenanigan complicated enough to get several million dollars out of a Russian oligarch and an Arab prince? Not Soyla.  That sound more like...  Like Sparky.

Bernard said not to expect either of those two—Soyla or Sparky—to show up.  And he was right, but for the wrong reason.  No way to know for sure—not yet, anyway—but I didn’t think anyone held my old buddy Sparcius hostage. More likely he monitored things from afar. Sparky loved Venice. That seemed as good a place as any to invest a tiny part of what must have been a huge down payment from One Way and Val.

So why me?  A number of reasons came to mind.  I could go over them all, but with Sparky, it would all boil down to the two things he loved most.  Money and himself.  He’d recruited me for both reasons, and probably because he had confidence I could pull it all off.  And risk friends? No qualms at all if he could put another penny in his pocket.  Sparky and Soyla.  It all made sense.  Kind of.

If I made it out of No Face’s pit I’d get to the bottom of those two.  Freudian slip?  As to why One Way and Val wanted Chucky’s bones?  I doubted even Soyla or Sparky knew that answer. The demon involvement?  Once again, I doubted those two knuckleheads were read-in on that part of the plan.  I promised myself a wall-to-wall chat with them.  Later. If I didn’t end up demon snacks.

“Is the vampire secure?” said Val.

“Most definitely,” said No Face. “He can move only inside the cage.”

Val spoke to Prince One Way.

“Then off with the boys,” he said. “That was the bargain.”

Speaking of bargain…

“I brought the bones,” I said.

I almost said “Chucky’s bones,” but I didn’t.  Maybe it was because I found myself more interested in counting Val’s heartbeats and wondering about his cholesterol levels.  Too much fat is bad for a vampire.  I was willing to make an exception.  One night of poor diet couldn’t kill you.

“Brought the bones,” said Val. “Brought the bones and expects us to accept the word of a vampire without the proof.”

“Wisely spoken, my friend,” said Prince One Way.  “Just as my father would say.”

I heard the polite thing going back and forth between the two, but the way they looked at each other—different matter.

“Your father,” I said.  “What’s his name, King Swings Both Ways?”

Black eyes bored into me and he looked on the verge of ordering his boys to do me in, though I didn’t think anything manmade could penetrate the demon cage.  Just a hunch.  And if it were true, it meant Chucky’s dry bones and I stood on one side of the hellfire cage and all the bad guys on the other.

“Easy, easy,” said Val.  “We need to close the deal.”

A few scratches appeared in Prince One Way’s thin veneer of amicability.

“Deal,” he said.  “Is it always that way with you people?  We don’t care about money.”

“Right, right,” Val said.  “I apologize for thinking five thousand dollar suits and two thousand dollar imported American alligator shoes makes me think you care about money.”

The two spent a couple seconds glaring at each other.  Prince One Way’s guys took the cue and tried throwing dirty looks at Val’s men.  Val’s men were more interested in the surroundings.  They seemed confident they could take Prince One Way’s boys—no sweat—and so they allowed their eyes to swivel up, down, and back and forth.

Everyone—except Prince One Way and Val—kept glancing over at No Face, and then at me. I wished I
could
do the vampire mind-trick thing.  Their thoughts as they saw No Face, who
really had no face
, and me with my teeth fully extended would have been priceless. You could bet none of these guys would talk about where they spent their vacation.

My blood lust felt right at home in that demon cathedral—a kindred spirit with No Face and his crash pad.  It could see itself getting to know the demon better—swapping recipes. “Vampire on the half shell?” I could hear the blood lust saying.  “OK, but you should really try the Russian Borscht.”  If one of the humans stepped a bit closer to my cage I could start my meal before the dinner bell rang.

“The children should go now,” said Val.  “As we agreed.”

Prince One Way nodded.  “And so it shall be.”

He spoke to No Face.  “Send them home.”

No Face didn’t appear to like taking orders from the skinny little human.  And if I could read
his
mind, I wouldn’t be surprised to catch glimpses of such words as “rip, rend, and destroy.”  I’d approve and even join in those festivities, if the opportunity presented itself.

Whoever closed the deal that ended with No Face on the temporary payroll must have made huge promises…and to a demon far above No Face on the corporate org chart.  That particular beast would need the decision-making authority necessary to make commitments and honor deals. I left it there because I thought it better to not tread further down that path.  I mean, did I really want a peek at whatever sat in the corner office of Demonworld?

I’ve already said I know nothing about souls and heaven and hell.  What happens after death?  No clue.  I knew demons existed, but always thought we called them demons only for convenience—so everyone would know what we were talking about.  Kind of the same reason we call ourselves vampires.  Sarah Arias was news for me.  First time I’d never run into anything claiming to be an angel. It was also the only time in my long life a woman so beautiful came back to see me a second time. That alone confirmed Sarah Arias had to be acting under orders.

So what brought Arab and ex-Commie turned Capitalist together in partnership with the demons?  Not the foggiest idea.  What had they promised? Ditto on the clueless.  Had to be more than just their souls—if souls really exist and could be traded like marbles or baseball cards.  If the gathering of souls cliché was more than myth, then these two were already on deposit in the First National Bank of Demonville.  

And after I handed over the plastic bag containing Chucky?  No way of knowing what would happen.  All I wanted was for the psychedelic mess to end with me leaving with my four bagger friends.  But that wasn’t 100% accurate.  I didn’t care whether I made it out or not. Just as long as I got a sip of one of the guys standing in front of me.

Prince One Way ordered, No Face obeyed.  Creepy.  A huge black door appeared a few feet away, next to the painting that served as jail for my friends.  Both sets of bodyguards lined up to get the hell out. Seemed animosities couldn’t overcome the desire to exit the place.

None of the supposedly brave men wanted to touch the doorknob. I understood.  Good thing the door opened on its own because I think those boys would still be standing in line if it hadn’t.  Bright light flooded the room and everyone except No Face put up a hand to shield their eyes.

I glimpsed wheat fields and a modern-looking town halfway to the horizon.  USA.  Perhaps Canada.  The boys dropped their weapons and filed through the door.  Perhaps they didn’t want to explain AKs, bayonets, pistols, and grenades to authorities they might encounter on the other side.  What a waste if they ended up in Alabama where they could have just told the cops they were all out frog hunting.

The screams started after the last of the hired guns made it through the door and it was closing.  Yells of terror and of pain interspersed with howls and cackles.  One or two of the guys must have retained handguns because I heard quick successions of pistol fire.  The door closed and all returned to silence.

Prince One Way looked over to No Face in horror.

“You should grow up,” said Val. “This makes things much easier for us.”

One Way looked at Val like the Russian had just offered to rape his mother.

“We did not agree to this,” said the Arab.

“Oh, but we did,” said Val.  “The moment we brought in this demon with no face.”

As if any of us needed clarification, Val pointed to No Face.

Prince One Way couldn’t seem to get jiggy with Val’s line of thinking.  Maybe he shared a weekend camel with one of the dead guys and was worried he’d need to feed the beast himself.

“This changes everything,” he said.

“Nothing changes,” Val said, and he took a few steps toward me. “Except we now face fewer people to pay and much less chance of blackmail.” 

“Vampire,” he said, “You will please hand over the bones.”

Easier said than done.  Even if I wanted to cash in my one chip I didn’t see a way to do it because the of the hellfire cage.  I could have given them one bone at the time—crushed the skull to get it past the tiny opening without melting a finger—or an arm—but I didn’t think they’d appreciate my problem-solving skills. But if I got out of No Face’s little prison here, Val would find out how much I appreciated his blood.  He needed to take a few more steps toward me and I’d have found a way.

“Idiot,” said Prince One Way.

Both Val and I looked over at him.  Kind of embarrassing.

“How will he give us the bones?”

That was better.  Idiot, as in Val.  I decided to kill Prince One Way last.

“A good question,” said Val.  He sounded friendly enough, so he must have thought “idiot” applied to me.

“What do you say, Mr. Demon?”

No Face kept his mouth shut for a few seconds.  Probably wanted to see how the humans would end up destroying each other.  The demon version of a cartoon.

No Face said, “I say we’ve reached the critical moment.”

No duh
.  We
had
reached the moment.  No Face would need to release my friends.  If that didn’t happen then No Face and his two human buddies would need to come into the cage and
take
the bones from me.  I hoped they sent that black-hearted bastard Val first. 

“Just get the bones, demon, and let’s get out of here,” said Val.