Demon Jack (32 page)

Alice appeared next to me. She stared into my face and then sat down, Indian style, primly arranging her dress about her knees.

“Jack, my poor Jack,” she whispered.

Chapter 32

The darkness had surrounded us, pure and complete. I could see faces, hands grasping in and out, expressions painted by shadow and highlighted only by darker and lighter forms of darkness. A circle had settled around us, Alice standing over my body in the center. Pain had become phantom. It was there but it was something ephemeral and distant. I could feel it, but it didn’t seem real. The ridged texture of the wood that pierced into my back, that ran through my chest and exited just below my ribs was tactile, but it was like feeling it through gloves. I could see my breath, small little bursts of white against cold air, but I felt no cold.

“You’re dying, Jack. Again,” she said.

She took my head in her lap, hands stroking through my hair. Her fingertips felt warm, radiating a comforting heat that sunk into my skin, pushing the aches, the pain further away. She cradled me like that, her fingers sliding over my cheek, brushing my hair back from my eyes.

“You know what happens when you die.”

“Hell.”

She nodded. “Yes. Hell.”

“I don’t want to die, Alice,” I said. I could feel the tears streaming down my face. I had lived with the threat of death constantly, abiding with the certainty that there was no redemption for me, that Hell was my final destiny. I had more than once, risked death, gotten arrogant with what Alice had given me. Now though, staring it in the face, I was scared. No, I wasn’t scared. I was fucking petrified.

“I know, Jack,” she said, and the corners of her lip folded up into a small, kind smile.

“Please don’t let me die,” I said, and started to cry, full on like a baby. The wood piercing my body turned the shuddering of my sobs into something better resembling convulsions.

“Shh, Jack. You don’t have to die,” she said. “I told you you’d have to make a choice.”

I looked up into her eyes, tears turning it into a kaleidoscope effect. Colors danced around her face. At that moment she looked absolutely beautiful. Her white skin, her hair, the way her eyes formed two milky pools, it all seemed to practically sing out with pure radiant beauty.

I tried to wrap my head around her words, to find their meaning in the simplicity of their syllables. I didn’t have to die. It was one of the same things she had said to me when we’d struck the original deal that had bound us together in the first place.

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to die,” she said again. “Not like this. You’ve given me your soul. Give me your life, pledge the body with the soul. That is your choice, the one I’ve told you about. Are you willing to sacrifice more of yourself for them?”

The second part of a Becoming was the body. You pledge it to the demon, and it’s used like a tool. The emotions you feel feed the demon, the pain you cause fuels it, makes it stronger. You become the instrument. You still have your freewill, but some of the demon's essence, its wants, they start to bleed over making you less than human in a lot of ways. After that, it was only one more deal, one moment of desperation on the mortal’s side and the demon would have total control, leaving you as just a bystander in your own head. You'd essentially be existing in Hell and in your head simultaneously, watching both places, touching neither.

“I... What?” I asked, feeling strength slipping from my limbs. Around us, the darkness had settled in closer, thick pools of black almost touching the hem of Alice’s dress. I could feel the cold now, settling into my bones. I was weary, tired. My eyelids starting to grow heavier with each weakening breath. I knew how this worked. I’d close them, fast as blinking, and when I opened them, I’d see Hell. Really see Hell for the first time, not just as some hulking shape on the horizon.

She sighed. “There’s not a whole lot of time left. Give me your life. Let me sustain it.”

I turned it over in my head, trying to chase down the exact meaning of her words. Let her sustain my life, which is what I thought she had been doing since the beginning. I closed my eyes, and as much as I didn’t want to, I opened them again. My lungs, even my heart felt tired. I heard the rhythmic thump of my heartbeat, so close, growing more and more distant with each passing moment. My lungs relaxed, one last breath, carrying a word and pushing it up through my throat.

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Close your eyes,” she said.

I didn't listen and I saw Alice for what she truly was. Not Alice, but Alikel - a thing of pure, radiant beauty. She was a woman, not a child. Her hair, still the purest of whites hung almost to her waist, seeming to sway around her like she was underwater, gently ebbing and flowing around an athletic frame. Her dress, once something little girlish had become a simple wrap around her waist, reaching down to her ankles. She was shirtless, her stomach a perfect flat plane that led to small, modest breasts. Her arms were toned, a perfect mixture of grace and athleticism that ended in a doll's fine hands. She lifted her head slightly, eyes still the purest white, and looked around as if seeing the world for the first time. Her mouth opened slightly, her perfect lips separating to let out the smallest of contented sighs. Wings, massive feathered wings, sprouted from her shoulders. They were spattered and soaked with red, broken in places, feathers torn and scorched black at the tips. Blood leaked from scattered cuts and wounds beneath the white feathers. She held a sword in her hand, a simple cross hilt style longsword. The same whitish blue flame that had poured from the sigils carved in my body during the exorcism wreathed the blade, sputtering and flickering, seeming to threaten to simply go out at any moment only to flare to back to brilliant life.

I really should have listened to her when she told me to close my eyes. She was the last thing I saw before my vision distorted, twisting and morphing as total blackness descended over my sight.

I heard her crouch beside me and I felt her lips, hovering just over mine. The slightest touch of air, a breath over my slightly open mouth. It felt like an explosion in my chest, though it wasn't painful. Bright, comforting warmth spread over my limbs before settling down into a pleasant glow. My heart beat once, and then again. Fresh air, sweet and scented with honey filled my lungs.

I felt aches and pains vanishing, wounds healing, the heat of the church, the sounds of Yavetta’s heavy, wet breathing returning. I heard nuances of sound I hadn’t before. I could hear the scrape of a rat’s nails against the floor. No, it was coming from under the floor. I heard a wet, slow breath sliding in Maggie’s chest, before slithering out. She was still alive.

I could smell the flesh, the hair, burning as the flames that had scarred my face gutted out. As quickly as the pain was there, it was gone. I reached up one hand touching my eyes, or rather where my eyes used to be. My eyes had burnt out. My fingers traced over empty sockets, over ropes of leathery scars. I gasped, trying to wrap my head around the shock of it. For a moment the fear of blindness, of vulnerability descended on me.

The darkness receded, light and shapes starting to take place in my vision.

“You should have kept your eyes closed, Jack,” I heard Alice say beside me. “You’ll be able to see again in a moment because of me. Do not forget, everything has a price. I will collect,” she said and her voice held a note of cold finality.

I didn’t care. More details swam before my vision. I could see the slab of wood, lying on the floor, stained with my blood. I stood up and energy literally ran through me, charging my muscles, drawing them tense. They were almost shivering with rage. The church came into focus. Yavetta was standing over Maggie, one foot on each side of her. He had her blade in one hand, her head pulled back by the hair with the other baring her throat.

I could see everything now, in ways I never could have imagined. I could see, rising off Yavetta, the thin whispers of black smoke hinted with green. I don’t know how I knew, but I knew it was Legion’s aura. I could see Maggie’s as well, a more natural darker green in color, like fresh pine needles, fading slowly with each exhale, only to brighten again with every inhalation. A small bracelet sent spider webs of fine filaments of white energy around her body, the majority around her head. They were so clustered there it was almost hard to see her face. It at least explained how she managed to heal so fast without her wonder balm. Though, given her injuries, I didn’t know if a magical bracelet would be enough to stave off death. Everything in the church held a subdued glow, somewhere far in its core, stained over with something disgusting and sticky. The desecration of murder painted over the purity of faith.

I blinked and the auras and light show went away. There’d be time to figure out how that nifty trick worked later. Right now, I had a situation to resolve.

Yavetta’s head snapped around towards me, glowing green eyes widening in surprise. He dropped Maggie to the floor and turned to face me fully. His skin rippled, seeming to bunch in on itself in anticipation.

“Interesting,” Yavetta said.

“I think so. It’s going to take some getting used to, but I think I’ll manage. That's a worry for another day. More pressing matters at hand and all.”

Yavetta tensed, staring me down with wary eyes.

“You don’t know the mistake you’ve made, boy,” he said.

“Maybe not, but I’m about to remedy one that I’m all too well aware of.”

“Why fight? What does it matter to you?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s fun maybe? Self-loathing?”

Yavetta stared at me blank faced. Apparently he didn’t appreciate my sense of humor.

Alice was standing in the corner, once more a little girl, though brighter and more vivid. I could see a shadow behind her, that of the angel I had seen only moments ago, mirroring her movement.

Alice was right, there was a lot about her I was going to have to learn. We'd get started on that just as soon as Legion and I had a little chat.

Chapter 33

I moved first, so much quicker than I had before. I wanted to put distance between Yavetta and myself before we started throwing down, get him away from Maggie and the priest. I leapt, easily clearing the distance from the floor to the balcony and hauled myself up over the railing. The pews were still in their original positions up here, the polished wood gleaming in the dim light.

Yavetta was a breath behind me. No sooner had I pulled myself up and over than he landed, making the jump up here from a standing leap. I put pews between us, though he could just push them aside without even the slightest bit of inconvenience. I felt good. Hell, I felt great. I had a chance now though, albeit a slim one. I was just going to have to pick my spots, settle in and let instinct take over.

He wasted no time, charging towards me. His hands clasped my shoulders, my own grabbing his collar. I twisted, pushing my hip into him and using it as a fulcrum, letting his momentum carry him. I lifted, and then slammed him down, driving his body into the pews. They snapped under the impact with audible, gunshot like cracks. He rolled, taking refuge under one of the pews that was still standing. I drove my fist down, shattering through it and slamming it into his chest.

His hands went around my wrist, vice-like and crushing, and he rolled away from me, throwing me off balance and slamming me against the banister. He twisted onto his side and kicked out, a straight mule style kick to my stomach that slammed me through the small banister and into empty air.

I hit the floor a second later, the impact radiating a painless shockwave through my entire body. Yavetta followed and I barely managed to roll out of the way before his knee hit where my head had been less than a breath before. I felt the impact through the floor, his knee driving a three-inch crater into the hardwood. I rolled again, this time barely avoiding his fist.

Yavetta leapt over me, twisting and grabbing the back of my head when I got to my feet, slamming my face down into the floor. My head bounced, brain jarred by the impact. My eyebrow split, blood running into my eye. He bounced my head again, and once more for good measure leaving my ears ringing, my lips split open.

He threw me by the scruff of my neck, sending me skidding and bouncing across the floor like a stone over the surface of a smooth lake. Yavetta was there before I even stopped moving. His hand snatched a hold of my shirt, lifting me up and launching me through the pulpit, and into the wall behind it. I tumbled to the floor, shaking my head, fighting to clear the stars. I wasn't hurt per se, but I was dazed as all hell. I could hear his footsteps, measured and heavy as he took the two steps up, stalking towards me.

I rose, slowly, trying to align my fluttering head. He charged, driving us both into the wall below a tired replica of Da Vinci's Last Supper. We grappled like that, trading quick body shots, before he managed to get a hand on me, tossing me back to the church’s floor. When he blurred in again, this time to kick me up into the damned ceiling I managed to catch his ankle, driving a hard fist into his knee. Something popped and my fist and his leg literally inverted. He dropped like a stone.

He didn’t say a word, leveling me with a stare so full of vicious intent that it would probably drive a sane man mad. That probably says a lot about my mental status. More of the snake-like tendrils slid under his skin, wrapping around his battered knee.