Night Call (Book 2): Demon Dei (42 page)

The incubus with the sword hit the far wall with a bone crunching crack and Mercy landed in a crouch with cat like grace. Amaya hit the cowering red incubus, slammed him to the ground while she thrust one arm out to catch the succubus coming in from the side. Mercy crash tackled the other incubus and they tumbled across the floor. The imps all toppled into the space I had been occupying.

An inarticulate, grinding howl signified Asmodeus’ discovery of the empty alcove.

I hastily stuffed the Rufus-in-a-bottle into my knapsack and slapped a new cartridge onto the paintball gun. With an imperious gesture, Asmodeus commanded his entourage to attack.

I’d like to say what followed was brave and manly and all things Chuck Norris-esk, but it wasn’t. What it was, was a lot of me running and ducking and firing blindly at pretty much anything moving faster than me. I got lucky with two well-aimed paintballs in the face of a yellow-tinged incubus swooping in from the side. He went down in a screaming pile, thrashing wings tangling up the second demon. Then the imps hit. They hadn’t become any easier to grab a hold of, but that didn’t mean they liked getting the heavy butt of a rifle in their face, either.

All the while, I was highly aware of the soul I carried in my backpack. I had no idea what sort of vessel Lucifer had given me, but it looked like glass, so I treated it like it. When a nasty little imp landed on my back I took great pains to not smash him into a wall. Instead, I shoved the Cougar over my shoulder, and being as dumb as it was, the imp grabbed it and tried to eat it. He got two bullets right down the gullet and didn’t bother me again.

I tried a bit of telekinesis and got nothing more than a quick tickle on the ribs of the incubus lunging for my throat. Still, it surprised the demon and I managed to plant the paintball rifle in his neck and melt enough muscle and flesh his head half fell off. I got my feet under his dying weight, ready to push him off, when the body was jerked up and tossed aside—revealing Asmodeus.

“Where is the thief?” he demanded, grabbing me by the shirt front and hauling me upright. My feet dangled a good foot off the floor.

“I don’t know,” I snapped as I pressed the rifle into his chest. “Where did you leave him?” And I pulled the trigger.

The rifle clicked on empty.

Asmodeus’ incredibly pretty face twisted into a truly ugly mask and the hands in my shirt morphed into scaly paws, claws cutting through the material.

Gulp.

Right about then would be a nice time for Mercy to show up.

She didn’t.

I risked reaching for her. All I got was a screaming ball of fury, and while it was scarily deep, it wasn’t the complete abandonment of demon-influence. She was just doing what she did best—fighting so ferociously little would be left standing when she was done. I took comfort in the fact she was alive and fighting. Where? No clue, but she was around, at least.

Still, didn’t help me much.

Asmodeus snarled almost as if he knew what I’d just done. “Your vampire is impressive. I am quite enthralled by her. Perhaps I will keep her as well. She should survive for a while at least. Long enough for me to dissect why she is so different, I am sure.”

Don’t give in, Matt. He’s intentionally goading you. Dissect? Did he think I was dumb enough to fall for such an obvious taunt?

“Then perhaps I will find something juicy to do with that favour Erin Allyson McRea owes me.”

Red dropped over my vision.

Usually, when I go berserk, that’s it. Goodbye Mr Rational Thinking, hello Sir Crazy-a-lot. This time, however, while the heat and the pressure built in my veins, something held me back from full tilt wacko. Whether it was the same tiredness that stopped me from using my psychic abilities, or some effect of the poison air, I managed to stave off the worst of the rage. What it left me with was a clear thought ringing through my head and the hyped up vision and hearing.

It felt like everything slowed down into clean, crisp images. Asmodeus released one set of claws from my shirt, arm lifting back in preparation to punch his fist through my face. Behind him, Amaya, bloody, ragged and very dangerous looking, loomed up, torn wings unfurling like dawn after the storm of the century. His killing blow would hit me before Amaya hit him. My rifle was empty, I couldn’t reach a pocket for a cartridge of salt-spiced paintballs and the Cougar was pretty much pointless. I was as good as dead.

Then, as if I was still in the hospital room with Erin, I heard her say, “What about faith, Matt? Couldn’t there be something besides chemistry at work here?”

Asmodeus’ claws curled into a fist. I reached into the shredded remains of my shirt and found the crucifix. The pewter seemed to burn in the charged atmosphere. Asmodeus saw it and his eyes widened.

I plunged the long end of the crucifix into his eye.

The Demon Lord screamed and let me go. I hit the floor just as Amaya slammed into him from behind. They flew over me and hit the ground so hard the marble-like substance cracked. I rolled out of the way of their fight.

It didn’t last long. Half blinded, Asmodeus was barely an adequate opponent. Amaya broke one of his wings, then wrenched his head around so hard bones snapped. She threw him onto his back and landed on his stomach so hard a gout of black blood spurted from his mouth. Not happy with that, she grabbed a handful of hair and slammed his head against the floor over and over. Bone crunched, wings twitched and the Lord of Lust’s head took a on a definite football shape. His wings spasmed once, twice, then fell limp. Amaya smashed his head down a couple more times, then as if his corpse burned her, she dropped him and leaped backwards.

Damaged wings pressed to the wall, she stared at her dead father like she didn’t recognise him.

“Amaya,” I whispered.

Her throat convulsed. Tears sprang to her eyes. She didn’t acknowledge me.

“
Amaymon,” I tried.

Oxy-torch eyes found me. The glow crept over her body, growing in intensity as she stared unblinking.

“Get out of here.”

Her voice was soft, but dreadful, full of pain and grief and something so cold and distant I knew without a doubt Lucifer had been right. Amaya could pretend all she wanted, but she was a demon. She was bound by her nature, a slave to it, and yet she had just crossed the greatest boundary she knew.

I got out of there.

“Mercy,” I sent down the private line.

“Here,” she replied and I looked to see a small hand rise out of a deep depression in the floor. Shedding cushion stuffing and tossing aside dead imps, Mercy crawled out of the hole and stood. Her PJs would be given to the garbage man but for the most part, she seemed rather unscathed. Me? I was dripping human blood and demon gore and was crusted here and there with drying paint.

Behind me, Amaya’s blue glow exploded into a gushing torrent. I glimpsed her from the corner of my eye as she pounced onto Asmodeus’ body and then they both disappeared into a seething column of her spirit light.

Whatever that meant, I didn’t want to stick around for the end result.

“We
gotta go,” I said to Mercy.

“How?”

The rifts Amaya and Lucifer had opened were gone. Now that I had more than a split second to think, I could feel the toll the alien air was having on me. I couldn’t catch my breath, my thoughts were going fuzzy on the edges and the berserker rage had left me quicker than usual. Lucifer had said it was up to me to get us out of Hell.

Panic started low in my sore stomach.

Mercy tilted her head and her curious thoughts cruised down the link until she touched on something I had all but forgotten.

Rufus.

Two objects as similar as you could get, imbued with the same power. Amaya’s secret to crossing the boundary. But what if you had two halves of the same thing? It was our only chance.

Mercy hopped into my arms, and legs wrapped around my waist, she pulled Rufus’ bottle out of my backpack. Cradling it between us, I put my hand on the bottle.

As I concentrated, banishing the acrid taste of the air, the insistent blue light growing all around us, Rufus’ aura flooded us. Hot, dry vodka, the overripe oranges and crystallising syrup. Mixed in with the flavours were his emotions—terror, pain, twisted, horrible desire and beneath it all, a faint touch of regret and grief.

Mercy put her forehead to mine and the channels between us opened fully. Our strength rushed together and swelled. We reached out, using Rufus’ soul as a guide. It seemed we reached and reached forever. We were close to the limit of our capabilities when we felt it—an echoing of the power between us. Latching on to it, we threw ourselves into the flow.

It was another hard landing. This time I got elbows in my face and knees in my groin. The impact knocked the air from my lungs, but when reflex pulled in a sharp breath, it was of cool, sterile air.

Mercy rolled off me, clutching the bottle. I coughed and curled up around my pain, grateful to be choking on nothing but proper air.

“What are you doing in here?” a strident voice demanded. “What the hell happened to you two?”

The bottle landed on my stomach and there was a rush of displaced air as Mercy moved. With a yelp, the speaker was propelled out of the room and the door slammed shut in her face.

“Good work.” Dear Lord, my voice was a six-pack-a-day croak. “Where did we end up?”

“Hospital.”

Mercy took the bottle off me again, helped me up and turned me to face the bed.

Rufus was pale and on a respirator. Without a soul his body had started to shut down.

“What do we do?” Mercy asked.

“No idea.”

Mercy held up the bottle, looked between it and the boy on the bed. With a shrug, she dropped the bottle.

Glass or not, the thing shattered in a spectacular array of shards. The trapped soul expanded and then contracted. As the last tinkles faded away, the coloured cloud settled to the floor and made no moves to go home.

Someone started banging on the door. Mercy went and leaned on it. That’d keep them out for a while longer.

I contemplated the soul lurking under the bed. I sat down so I was level with it. Him, I suppose. Although I felt like lying on the beach would be too much of an effort, I summoned up the dregs of my strength and reached out toward the soul. It flinched and flung the fear and hurt at me. I hit back with my own pain, the memory of everything I’d gone through to save the ungrateful little wretch. I followed it with a good dose of compassion and understanding, tinged with the fact that while there would be punishment, there would also be sympathy.

And that was me finished. I pulled back and Mercy hauled me up again.

I don’t remember much of getting out of the hospital. I do recall a blur of faces and then the flickering spears of brightness of streetlamps passing at speed. Then I was slumped against a phone box and Mercy was talking to someone.

Next thing I knew, I was in my bed, every bone aching so hard I could barely move. Lying still was torture. Voices came from somewhere, muffled but light-hearted. Things must have been okay so I took a vacation from reality again.

The rumbling of my stomach woke me the next time. That and the enticing smell of bacon sizzling.

It was an effort of epic proportions, but I managed to fall out of bed and land on my feet, sort of. My left knee didn’t want to cooperate, but I bullied it into action and hobbled out to the kitchen.

“Hey, it’s awake.” Roberts presided over the divine alter of the stove top.

I made it to a chair and had a little nap while he finished making the food. Two rounds of butter saturated toast, a veritable mountain of scrambled eggs and about three pigs worth of bacon revived me enough to drink every drop of orange juice in the house.

“Feeling better?”

“Ugh.”

“That’s nice. You’ll be pleased to know that Mercy’s gone through the last of your blood stock. If you didn’t wake up today, she was going to have to move on to take out.”

“How many days?”

“Only two. You were both pretty beat up when we found you, though. The kid’s doing fine. Watched that bloody movie twice last night. Kept me up with her swooning and sighs.”

Not that I was looking forward to the answer, I asked, “Chris and Rufus?”

“Chris is fine. They released him yesterday. He’s got some amnesia and some pretty heavy medications to help him sleep, but he’ll be okay.” Roberts sucked in a long breath. “Rufus isn’t so good. I gather that not long after you and
Merce made your escape from the hospital, he woke up. Damn near screamed the place down, apparently. He’s been sedated and they’re transferring him to Mentis.”

“Under Dr
Angelshire?”

“That might be the guy they mentioned.”

I went back to bed for a while, got up around mid-afternoon, showered and convinced Roberts I was fine. He left reluctantly and I called Erin.

We met at Pelican Park on the south side of the peninsular. The kite flyers were out in force, their multi-hued contraptions zigging and
zagging through a clear blue sky. Over them all hovered a huge, white kite in the shape of a pelican.

There were the usual ‘how you doing?’ and ‘fine, thanks’ things and then we sat down to watch the kites.

“How did Mercy leave her room?” Erin asked. “It was the middle of the day and I was right there. The cage was never unlocked.”

I thought for all of about two seconds about not telling her, but really, why fight it? Keeping it to myself might be the best for Erin, but I had to stop and wonder what was best for me. I gave her an option.

“Are you sure you really want to know?”

Erin studied the kites for a while, thinking. “Yes. I can’t run away from it anymore and I suppose, having you around might just help me come to grips with it all.”

I told her everything. She was silent and listened without interruption.

“So, Asmodeus is dead,” I finished. “All of his… deals should be null and void.”

“Good.” She reached up absently to her left shoulder, then realising what she did, dropped her hand with a rueful, fleeting smile. “What do you think Lucifer meant when he said, ‘where you’re going’?”

“I don’t know.” In truth, I’d been trying not to think about it. “Maybe he just meant having to deal with Asmodeus once Lucifer left.”

Erin pondered that with her investigating-expression. “No. I think he knew you would get out of there. He pulled Mercy across to help you. I think he was looking further afield. Perhaps he wants you around in the future in case another Demon Lord decides to follow in Asmodeus’ footsteps.”

I snorted. “I doubt it. I mean, Lucifer could have cleaned all of this up himself, without having to manipulate Amaya or Rufus. He opened a rift without raising a sweat and he froze an entire room of demons, including Asmodeus. Lucifer didn’t need Amaya or me to help him. He wanted us there.”

“Why?”

“I have no freaking idea, and that scares me.” Before I could wig myself out thinking about it, I said, “I’m going to talk to
Angelshire about Rufus. I might be able to help him.”

“It’s good of you to try.”

“Does Chris know the whole story?”

Erin shook her head. “I haven’t told anyone else. They think Rufus had a psychotic breakdown after killing Geraldine, attacked Chris and then collapsed. It’s as good a story as any.”

“And has no hint of demonic forces about it.”

“Are you going to harp on at me about telling the truth again?”

Leaning back far enough to keep the pelican in sight, I said, “Not anymore. You made your point. So you haven’t told Ivan the truth.”

“Not yet.” A sardonic smile curled her lips. “Let me have my one normal friend, please. For as long as I can, at least.”

“Normal friend, huh? Does that mean I’m the abnormal friend?”

“It means you’re abnormal, yes.”

We sat in happy silence for a while.

“William’s home,” Erin said. “He’s doing really well. They gave him something to boost his immune system.”

“That’s great.”

Her smile this time was glorious. “Yeah, it is.”

I was happy for her.

“You’re a pretty smart chick,” I said, eager to get past the moment. “Good at problem solving.”

“So my boss likes to think.”

“I want to hire you to help me solve a problem.”

Erin regarded me for a moment. “What sort of weird creature does this problem involve?”