Downside Rain: Downside book one (18 page)

An
unholy shriek pierces my skull.

I
withdraw my blades; they are coated in slime, as are my hands, and my hands
burn. Limbs erupt in frenzied thrashing. They beat my head and sides but don’t
try to grasp me. I turn back to River with difficulty amid a barrage of rubbery
arms. He’s supine on the floor, free, but his eyes are closed, his body limp. I
drop down with him, the demon’s cry sawing through my head.

The
creature stops squawking. Limbs whip past us as it draws them to its body. I know
what this means, the demon is readying to return to the dark depths. We’ll go
with it if we don’t get away.

I
drop my knives and thump River’s chest with one fisted hand. His eyes pop open,
he whoops in air and gags. I pull his mask off and yell for emphasis. “Come on!
Move!” My arms on his back and chest help him to his hands and knees. Together,
we crawl from beneath the shadow.

I
let go of River and whack on my side. He collapses on his face. Sore and
bruised, my hands still burn, so I shift out and back in.

River
is propped on his elbows as he watches what again is an impenetrable shadow. He
gets the words out on his second try. “What
is
that?”

I
push up from the floor. My legs are unsteady, not from burns because they went
when I faded, but from knowing we had a close call. “A demon.”

The
dark cloud pulses.

“Go
on,” River urges, and coughs. “Get out while you can.”

How
chivalrous. He wants me to run, save myself, though it means leaving him. I
bite back a sarcastic response because I know he means it. “Get up, asshole.
You can walk.” I take his arm.

The
cloud contracts, collapsing in on itself, and disappears in a puff of vapor and
stink of rotten eggs.

I
straighten up. “Damn.” The demon is gone. Good. Took my blades with it. Bad.

“Move,
River. We need to get going.” Because the demon is gone doesn’t mean another
won’t come through.

I
swing around to find River on his feet, staring at me. His gaze scours my body
from head to toes, lingering in particular places.

“What
are you looking at? You’ve never seen a naked girl before?”

“Not
one as perfect,” he murmurs with a lopsided grin. “Though that Betty . . . ,”
and he sighs theatrically.

Snickering
after nearly losing your life to a demon seems flippant, but I can’t help
myself.

We
leave the attic once I’m dressed. Unlike my knives and River’s mask and net, which
disappeared with the demon, we still have most of the equipment we rented. I’ll
have to reimburse the store only for what we lost.

Remembering
the feeling I experienced before, I stop on the next landing. I still feel it
and know what it is now. No sound, no smells, the sensation of emptiness in a
deserted building.

I
turn along the corridor, walk to the first door and try the handle, which is
locked.

River
is so close behind me, I feel him. “River, those boots look like they can kick
that in.” And the door is pretty flimsy.

“Why
don’t you walk through?”

I
throw an amused glance over my shoulder. “Nuh uh. You’ve seen all of me you’re
going to.”

An
exaggerated sigh, and his hands on my shoulders gently move me aside.

He
kicks the door with one boot. Wood splinters from the frame, the door bursts
open and hits the inside wall.

“Nice.”

“Thank
you.”

We
don’t need to enter the apartment to know it is unoccupied. Like the attic, old
wallpaper peels in strips and mildew stains the walls and ceiling. A stained
mattress lies on the floor surrounded by paper litter, bottles and cans. A
shattered wood crate is in pieces below the filthy cracked window.

“I
don’t think any of the apartments are in use. This place has been empty for a
long time,” I observe.

“And
Mr. Tipola?” He angles over my shoulder.

“Doesn’t
exist. I could check public records but I suspect Tipola is a pseudonym.”

“He
was good,” he observes. “Convinced me.”

“Me,
too. Son of a bitch.”

“It
was a trap.” River moves aside as I back out.

“And
not the first. Attics are not a demon’s natural habitat. It was summoned, and
that’s just the tip of the snowflake.”

“You
mean tip of the iceberg.”

“I
knew it was something cold. I’ve been here too long.”

I
return to the stairwell and start down, and tell River about the hellion as we
descend.

“Hellions
and demons aren’t the same thing?”

“Hellion.
Hell’s minion. Said to be humans who sold their souls to the devil. Demon’s are
Satan’s children, born of the Pit.”

“You
really believe all that.” His soles scrape on the stairs behind me. “Angels,
demons, gods, an actual Devil.”

I
smile to myself. I’m repeating what others say, which doesn’t mean I believe
it. “I know what we call demons and angels are real. Can’t say where they come
from, or if they’re given form by an omnipotent entity.”

“Are
we going to the police?” he asks as we reach the second floor.

“What
purpose would it serve? They can’t investigate a demonic incursion or go after
it to the nether realm. All it would do is put me on their list of folk who
create more work for them. If it had attacked someone important, like one of
the Triad, that’d be different. They’d make an effort, probably pay a sorcerer
to look into it.”

Something
tickles the back of my brain, but slides away before fully formed when I try to
fasten it.

Exchanging
the building’s musty interior for the wet but fresh-smelling street is a
relief. Yes, Downside gets lots of rain, but it washes away the trash and
noxious aromas.

River
sets the unit on the step. “What about this, do we have to lug it back?”

“Leave
it, they’ll be by to collect it.” My gaze tracks up the building’s façade. “I
don’t understand it. An entire apartment complex, empty?”

Color
catches my eye as we stand on the steps. I angle over the railing. There, at
the bottom of the steps to the basement, something blue. A lot of something
blue. I scuttle down there.

Wide,
shining blue tape is wadded into three large balls, one of them stuck to the
wall inches above the concrete floor. I can see paper inside the balls, and
although it’s torn into pieces and trapped by the adhesive, I’ve seen these
posters around Gettaholt enough times to identify a demolition notice.

River
leans over the railing. I start up the steps. “This place is scheduled for
demolition. Tipola or a crony took down the tape and public notices.”

We
walk away and head for the river. River’s eyes are trying to look every way at
once.

“Bet
you’re wondering what you got yourself into.”

“Nah,
I’m good.”

But
the weak smile he offers tells me that is exactly what he’s thinking.

He
holds his coat collar closed with one hand as we cross the bridge.

“Bet
you’re covered in bruises. Does it hurt?”

His
mouth twists. “A demon strangled me. Sure it hurts.”

My
fingers trail along the bridge’s rain-speckled iron railing. “I thought you’d
drop everything.” His inability worries me. What better stimulus can there be
than a monster from hell choking you? Is River handicapped?

“You
just want me to get naked,” he says, gaze ahead as he strides, perfectly
straight-faced.

I
snort through my nose.

The
carport’s wooden slats dig in my back as we stand in the shadows.

“What
are we waiting for?” River asks.

“Him,”
I reply as Jessy leaves his house by the backdoor and strides along a street
not much wider than an alley. “He doesn’t miss much of what happens in the
street. Tonight is his weekly darts match at The Cricket; he’ll be gone two
hours or more.”

Which
gives us ample time to get Castle’s arsenal.

The
law says a deceased person’s financial assets go to the City and his
possessions to auction when he has no next of kin. The process is on hold for
two weeks on the off chance a hitherto unknown relative turns up, or a will is
found. The window of time is almost up.

Our
weapons belong to the partnership. I won’t let them go to the City or police.

Refusing
to let my feet lag, I stride across to Castle’s house. Though Castle lives on
in another form, the memory of his death is rooted in my mind and lingers in
this house. But I shall
not
falter. My hands
will not
tremble as
I insert the key in the lock.

“Why
don’t you go through the door invisible and let me in?” River asks.

“It
is
so
not invisible.” Then the sparkle in his eyes catches mine. I give
him a look. “Give it up, River. I’m not going naked for you again.” I grin into
his face. “Tell you what, you do it, I’ll do it.”

His
turn to snort.

“Anyway,
we’ll be loaded down when we leave,” I add. “We need mass to carry what I’m
here for.”

Inside,
the house smells strongly of pine cleaner. City workers have scoured the place;
they’ll soon be back to box Castle’s possessions. Evidence in the home no
longer concerns Gettaholt when money can be made. Castle’s case folder will be
filed in some musty storage room. His death will be forgotten.

But
not by me.

I
make the panel slide open.

“Awesome!”
River exclaims.

“We’re
taking the lot.” I kneel and unzip the duffel bag.

“Are
we stealing?”

“It
belonged to our partnership. That makes it mine. Anyway, if the police find
this, it’ll never go to auction.”

I
haul Castle’s padded duffel from the bottom of the closet. We remove weapons
from pegs, brackets and the shelf and stow them in the two bags.

River
takes a steel box from the floor and opens it. A big .500 handgun with a seven-inch
barrel nestles in molded foam.

“We
don’t want that.”

He
removes the gun and inspects it. “Why not?”

“Guns
are curiosities, you won’t find many Downside.” I lower a mace into the duffel.
“Something about the magic. They’re not reliable. As soon as backfire in your
face than hit your target.” Nobody understands why firearms are undependable.
They’re powered by combustion but so is a lot of factory equipment and it works
fine. Maybe Downside magic doesn’t like guns.

“I
like curiosities.” He replaces the gun in the case. “Is there ammo?”

His
stubborn streak rivals mine. “Guys and their toys. Leave it.”

He
looks like he wants to argue, mouth locked, eyes narrowed. I ignore him and
continue transferring stuff to the bags. When I lift my head a minute later, he
stands just inside the living room.

“Don’t
- ” I begin, a familiar queasiness in my belly. I clench down on the words. It’s
a room, nothing more. No blood, no body. Cleaners have made it respectable for
the auction.

I
get up off my knees and touch River’s sleeve. “Come on, we should go.”

“Castle
told you everything you know about Downside,” River says as we tromp through
the square. Delivery vehicles constantly streamed through here during business
hours but it’s deserted now. Except for the road in and out, warehouses make a
solid wall either side. Broken by huge double doors and loading ramps, their
old chipped brick walls loom three floors high. We trudge along, passing in and
out of shadow and yellow lamplight.

“I
picked up some, but yeah, most came from him.”

“He
was your mentor. Are you my mentor?”

“Someone
has to stop you making a fool of yourself.”

He
sighs heavily. “I’m not an idiot, Rain.”

“I
know you’re not. But you’re new. Avoiding trouble is easier than having to
extricate yourself from it.”

“Rain!
Heads up!” Castle yells.

I
decelerate as a figure steps into a pool of lamplight up ahead. It looks like.
. . .

Did
I say trouble?
I lower my duffel to the cobbles as
another werekin slinks from the shadows, and another. Werekin in the city. Not
right. Not good.

“Rain,”
River warns in a whisper.

I
inch around. Two more are behind us.

Looking
over my shoulder, I grope in the bag. The group of three moves with an unhurried,
ungainly, loping gait. Their faces become visible as they close with us, the long
stringy, greasy hair, hollow cheeks and yellow cat’s eyes with vertical irises
and murky sclera. Though naked except for filthy clouts cupping their genitals,
they look like human men with bulky hunched shoulder, broad chests and muscular
arms which end in blunt-fingered hands tipped with horny yellow nails.

Werekin
are timid ferals, but these are near enough to detect madness in their eyes and
spittle drizzles from their mouths.

 One
crooks his head and snarls. Their fingers are splayed to slash and rend.

My
instinct says fade out and disappear, but River can’t do that yet.

“We
have a problem,” I breathe. I go down on one knee to unzip the duffle. “Find
whatever you can use.”

“What
are they?”

“Werekin.”

I
come upright holding the sword I used on the ghouls. Lamplight glints in the werekins’
eyes and off my angled blade. Praying River can hold off the other two until
I’ve dealt with these, I run toward the three and veer at the werekin on my
right who is a little apart from the others. Powerful legs springboard him from
the ground and he leaps at me.

Slashing,
I cut a shallow groove in a reaching arm. Rotating on one foot, the blade curves
to slice across his collarbone. He howls and grabs at me, nails barely missing
my face.

My
ears strain for sound behind me. Nothing, no scuffling or snarls.

Holding
the sword two-handed, I slice up and across the werekin’s belly. He collapses
to the ground as I back up.
Got to get to River.
Please, gods, if you’re
listening, don’t let them have him.

Fingers
snag my collar. I gasp and throw myself sideways, desperate to keep my blade apart
from my body as I go down. A dark shape crouches over me as I come up on my
knees.

I
bring up my sword, but it feels wrong. I’m not balanced. The sword, usually an
extension of my arm, is a dead weight in my hand.
You left him. That’s River
back there, not Castle. He doesn’t have Castle’s skill.

I
push up with one heel. The werekin circles me, the other closes in.

Boom.
Boom.

The
noise hits the walls and throws itself back at me. I can’t help flinching and
my grip on the sword slips. Curved hands hook in my shoulders and lift me off
my feet. I stare into sulphurous eyes and a slavering maw.

Boom.

The
werekin jerks. Blood sprays my face and chest. It crumples and I tumble down
with it. My blade clatters on the ground.

Boom.

Stunned,
I scrabble for my sword, touch metal, find the hilt and wrap my fingers around
it. Rolling on my back, I hold it vertical in defense.
Have to get back on
my feet.

“Rain,”
River says. “Easy, Rain.”

I
blink warm sticky liquid from my eyes. River stands over me, the big handgun in
his lax grip, the smell of cordite strong in heavy night air.

He
presents his hand. I stare at it.

“They’re
dead,” he says. “We’re okay.”

My
mind starts working again. I swipe at my eyes, look at the red on my skin. Ignoring
River’s hand, I clamber to my feet.

The
werekin who grabbed me is missing the side of his head. Another werekin splays
on his back, limbs thrown out, with a big charred hole in his chest.

I
rotate on my soles. The two werekin I left to River are on the ground fifteen
feet away. Gaze skittering over the square, I cross to them. He shot one through
the head, the other in the throat.

“Bet
you’re glad I brought the gun along.” He’s not even short of breath, while my
lungs try to heave out of my body. He stood his ground and fired. I put my body
through physical contortions.

My
pulse hammers. Anger clips my words. “What were you thinking?”

His
grin fades. “I
think
I saved your life.”

I
close my eyes and rub my forehead, the werekin’s blood tacky on my skin. “You
could have killed yourself with that thing.”

He
gets the stubborn look I’m becoming familiar with. “But I didn’t. I don’t know
how to use a sword or any of that other stuff. But the gun is right. I knew I
could use it. And I’d say I’m pretty good with it.” Backbone stiff, radiating
indignation, he goes back to his duffel and puts the gun in its case.

Am
I supposed to be grateful? I’m grateful. “Thanks,” I mumble, then lift my chin
and project my voice. “Thank you. I couldn’t have taken them all.”
And protect
you at the same time.

“You’re
welcome,” he mutters as he stands with the duffel in hand.

“We
should go. Gunshot is uncommon and probably heard streets away. The police will
come.”

But
first. . . . Mewling, the werekin I gutted curls around himself, intestines
spilling over his hands.

“Turn
around, River.”

“Rain.”

“Turn.
Around,” I snarl. “Please.”

He
spins on his heel.

I’ve
never given the mercy stroke before, I don’t want to, but there is no saving
this poor thing and I can’t leave it to die in agony. I look down at the werekin
and lift my sword. “Forgive me.”

On
my knees, I bend over the shower stall, swishing water, trying to rinse off
flakes of blood stuck to the ceramic sides.

River
leans on the doorframe, arms folded over his chest. “I thought I heard someone
yell back there.”

I
present a thoughtful face. “Me, too. Did you see anyone?”

“No.”

“Another
mystery. Whatever - it was timely.”

He’s
silent for a moment, a faraway look in his eyes. His shoulders drop. “Werewolves.”

“
Werekin
,
not werewolves. They’re not humans who change into animals. What you saw
tonight is what they are. Someone way back called them werekin because they
look something like popular mythology’s werewolf, and they’re so primitive I
doubt they have a name for themselves. They are rare, and I’ve never heard of
any in the city. They keep to isolated areas - normally, anyhow.”

“You
regret killing them.”

I
do. The poor things were used. They didn’t have a choice. “Werekin are a
perversion of nature, beasts with human limbs and purely animal instincts. They
keep out of the cities. They avoid people. Coming after us doesn’t make sense,
unless they were spelled, bound to someone who controlled them.

“Whoever
is after me has gone from calling up demons to using Downside’s citizens. Demons
don’t mind being controlled when they’re ordered or allowed to terrorize and
kill. Using werekin is heinous. They’re weak-willed, easily manipulated and
usually avoid other entities. What was done to them is pure evil. So no, I
didn’t want to kill them.”

“We
didn’t have a choice.”

My
voice is leaden. “No, we didn’t. They would have torn us apart.”

“Is
the same person who sent the hellion and the thing in the attic behind it?” he
asks.

“Seems
likely. And. . . . I didn’t tell you about the shifter.”

So
I tell him, omitting that Castle was with me.

 “But
they’re not werewolves. Is there such a thing as a werewolf?”

I
get off my knees and wipe my hands on a towel. “Not what you’re thinking of. Some
shifters are wolves. The shifter who came after me is a puma. But they’re not
slavering beasties that indiscriminately rip people apart.”

“I’d
like to see one.”

“You
might, though you won’t know unless you see one change. But not many are around
these parts. The local shifter pack is small. The shifter population in general
doesn’t amount to many. There are
far
more shifters Upside, they prefer
it because they can blend in with the humans and the hunting is better. Shifters
are all-around noble types. Not to say you can mess with them without payback.
They’re ferocious when defending themselves and their family or righting a
perceived wrong. As I said before, they have two disparate natures which share
one adaptable body. Whichever form they wear, they have the strength, grace and
intelligence of both beast and human. They have a conscience.”