Axes and Angels: A Snarky Urban Fantasy Novel (Better Demons Series Book 1)

by Matthew Herrmann

  “Provide your bank account to Ganymede on the way out and both yours and Orion’s money less 18 thousand will be wired to your account within the hour.”

  I raised my eyes and the butler appeared at my side, presenting me with a hard plastic case that he held up and opened. I didn’t know what 18 grand physically looked like, but I’d take my employer’s word. At least I’d be able to call Larry with some good news when I left here.

  I nodded. “Very generous of you.” Especially considering I’d broken one of the contract’s clauses by unwrapping (and using) the axe.

  My employer felt at his wrists. “Did you learn anything on your mission?”

  Yeah. I really hated Typhon. Not only because of what he was doing to Others, but because he had Orion. What was Typhon doing to my partner right now? Torturing him? Preparing him to enter the arena?

  I had a sudden thought. Well, I’d be lying if I said it was a spur-of-the-moment idea. I’d been turning it over in my head the entire drive here.

  Maybe it was time to find my cause.

  “I know this was supposed to be a one-time job,” I said, studying the back of my benefactor’s expensive suit.

  “Hmm?”

  “You had me steal a very powerful artifact belonging to a very powerful man. A man who few individuals would even dare to cross.”

  A pause. And then, “Go on.”

  I shivered at the hunger I detected in his words.

  “Typhon’s got my partner,” I continued, clenching my fist. “And I’ll take him down if that’s what it takes to get Orion back. I’ve got a feeling you have a grudge against Typhon as well.”

  The man smiled.

  I knew it because I could see it.

  Because he turned to face me.

  And he had eyes that flickered like lightning behind a storm cloud.

  And he had a mouth, but no lips, like that of a snake.

  At least his neck looked normal.

  I swallowed, having come too far to back out now. “But I need resources.”

  “It appears our goals align. For I too, wish to see Typhon suffer,” he said. “I think we can work together. Partner.”

  He extended his hand and, whether or not I was making a pact with the Devil, I didn’t care.

  I shook it …

  I shook it without hesitation.

  THE END

  Part II

  Stuck Between a Halo and a Hard Place

  “Where My Party People?”

  Bright lights. Sick beats. Tight hips. Ten-dollar beers. A mechanical centaur to ride …

  Club Athena had it all. And then there was pretty ol’ me in my shiny new dress and Orion’s spare leather jacket draped over my shoulders, raising my fist on the dance floor like I was really enjoying all this. It was mostly just an act—my training taking over: blend in with the scenery.

  Arachne had chosen a hopping place to make her big DJ debut. The neon sign outside the club bore a blue-tinted, neon goddess continuously raising and lowering a spear and shield. The caricature looked cartoonish to me (and with way too large bosoms), but it did give an accurate first impression of what to expect inside: a good time, if that’s what you were looking for.

  The interior of Club Athena was more Roman than ancient Greek with an abundance of rounded brass and ornamental crown molding. All of the bistro tables along the sides of the open dance floor were draped by flowing beige cloth, and aside from the pulsating lights on the rotating DJ booth at the center of the dance floor, the place was relatively dark. Blue lights illuminated the two side bars, showcasing the nubile nymph bartenders garbed in tight, nearly see-through cream-colored togas as they operated the beer taps and prepared mixed drinks.

  I cupped a hand over my ear. “Test, test.”

  From her place behind the DJ booth, Arachne bobbed her head to the beat, her flawless upper body wrapped in a shiny, red blouse. “Read you loud and clear, gurrl,” her voice sang clearly over my earpiece. She looked very much in her element beneath her sexy sunglasses, her luscious hair swishing back and forth to the music’s rhythm.

  Glancing at her, you’d never know Arachne was pulling double-duty, crushing songs as well as watching the tiny monitors arrayed before her in her DJ booth. It was comforting knowing that she was watching my every move and keeping an eye out for when Typhon’s gang showed up.

  “I can hear thee as well,” LK’s voice spoke regally over my comms.

  “Good,” I said. “I know it was a rush job, but as long as we follow the plan, we’ll be alright.”

  “Commence Operation Wayfinder,” LK said, and I shook my head as I caught sight of the lich king lingering by the bar in the toga he had insisted on wearing as part of his cover. Oh LK …

  “Yippee!” Simon shouted, but only I could hear him.

  Garfunkel nodded, his Hello Kitty shades covering his eyes. “Let’s get this party started.”

  My two familiars sat on my raised 80’s-esque shoulder pads in miniature togas of their own as we surveyed the club’s clientele. More than half were in their twenties, but there were plenty of middle-aged patrons enjoying themselves. Several different kinds of Others mingled among the crowd as well; I recognized a banshee, a tengu and a cyclops who, despite questionable depth perception, was definitely getting boogey with it.

  It seemed that overloud, tasteless pop music was the tie that bound all cultures and mythologies alike. Who figured?

  Of course the flowing alcohol didn’t hurt. And as Arachne herself had put it earlier tonight when we (but mostly me) were setting up her custom-made (and extremely heavy) rotating stage, the place was “classy AF.” She wasn’t wrong.

  The current pop song was just wrapping up when Arachne’s voice came over my earpiece. “I see them. By the entrance.”

  I checked my watch. Right on time … “Thanks, A.”

  It wasn’t hard to spot them, three of Typhon’s lieutenants ambling toward me amid the swirling disco ball lights. Time to talk business …

  Arachne had discovered via her hacking into Typhon’s databases that Orion was scheduled to fight in the Arena two nights from now, hence this little “operation.” If I didn’t reach Orion before then … well, I’d never forgive myself.

  I had to get to him.

  The throbbing, up-tempo chorus of Lady Gaga’s Marry the Night had just started oozing through the club’s speakers when Arachne’s voice crackled again over my comms. “Looks like they brought company.”

  Crap … I’d just noticed them myself, a motley crew of human and Other thugs following Typhon’s three lieutenants and dispersing into the crowd of dancers around me, each wearing a red bandana tied around their bicep or wrist like they were in some exclusive club—or rather, a gang …

  Typhon’s gang.

  LK cleared his voice. “Shall I shred the flesh from their bones?”

  “No,” I said. “There shall be no shredding of flesh here. Stand down. I repeat. Stand down. I’ve got this.”

  “Uh Theo, you sure? They really don’t look friendly,” Simon said, absentmindedly braiding my hair and glancing at the exit. “And minions weren’t part of the plan … Maybe we should abort?”

  Garfunkel crossed his arms. “Nah, our girl Theo can take em. Right, Theo?”

  I wasn’t paying attention to my familiars or the sneering, red-bandana’d minions now loosely surrounding me so as to cut off any chance of an escape on my part. My main attention was on Typhon’s three lieutenants moseying up to me, sizing me up as if they had all the time in the world.

  On the left was a real bruiser of a man with a handlebar mustache, wearing an open biker jacket over a navel-length white dickie, his chiseled (and hairy) abs making him look like a rejected Chip and Dale’s dancer.

  Oh, and he wore a strand of piano wire looped over his neck like a necklace—

  “Are dickies still in style?” Garfunkel asked.

  Simon nodded his head authoritatively. “According to Cosmopolitan and People. But I think yo
u’re supposed to wear a tuxedo jacket or v-neck sweater over them …”

  “Guys,” I practically had to yell to be heard over the club’s blaring speaker system. “Let’s focus on business, please? Not talk about fashion.”

  “Well if you ask me,” Simon began, continuing to nervously braid my hair, “you could use some lessons in fashion—”

  “I didn’t ask you,” I said, probably a bit sterner than I’d meant to. “I’m more worried about that wire around his neck. It’s a garrote—you know, a special ops weapon for strangling sentries from behind in the dark.”

  Garfunkel smirked. “Yeah, cool points for that. Don’t much care for the dickie though.”

  “Definitely clashes,” Simon said.

  Anyways … next to Dickie Man was Lieutenant #2, the Minotaur from Typhon’s labyrinth, his hair-covered body glistening like chocolate fondue. Instead of armor, he was wearing a very customized (very expensive) tuxedo. He looked sharp for a man with the legs and arms and head of a bull, but as usual, looking good came with a price. Judging by the stiff way he moved, any sudden movement might split his suit. Thank the GoneGods, he wasn’t packing his halberd.

  The third lieutenant Typhon had sent was a trim, really, really, really attractive young man with shiny black hair, his face shadowed by the darkness of the dance floor. My eyes wandered up his black shoes, slacks and tight-fitting dress shirt. Disco light flashed across his face and then my world stopped. Not literally, but my stomach felt like it had just fallen through a trap door.

  “Hey!” Garfunkel said. “Isn’t that Gan the butler?”

  “Now he knows fashion,” Simon said. “Wait, why is he here?”

  Great question, I thought as Typhon’s three lieutenants stopped just in front of me on the dance floor, the crowd giving us space and generally not paying any attention to us.

  Have I mentioned how I hate that freezing sensation in your gut when some crazy, unforeseen variable presents itself in the middle of an already precarious situation?

  “Dude! You’re Playing for the Wrong Team”

  GoneGodDamnit. What was going on?

  Gan worked for my latest employer, who’d hired me and Orion to steal that lava axe from Typhon’s storeroom. Also the same employer who less than twenty-four hours ago had professed he wanted to see Typhon suffer.

  Was Gan really working for Typhon? He stood tall and handsomely next to the Minotaur betraying no sign that he recognized me and I didn’t know what to do. Crap … I’d had this entire exchange planned out and now this complication …

  The three lieutenants glanced at each other expectantly before the Minotaur raised a hoof. “We meet AGAIN.”

  “Enchanté,” I said and gave a mocking half-bow while trying to collect my thoughts. “Popular place, right?” I motioned at all the people gathered around. This was about as public of a neutral meeting place as it got in case Typhon’s people had any funny business planned, say trying to stuff me in the back of a van or something.

  The Minotaur’s nostrils flared, his glossy eyes bulging like twin black 8-balls as the bright, flashy lights poked at and prodded them. I’d probably have felt a little uneasy myself with all the dancing flesh and flashing lights after being confined to an underground labyrinth.

  “Yeah …” I said awkwardly. “Sorry about the light show. On a side note, it’s good to see Typhon lets you topside for some fresh air every now and then. I myself would consider it cruel and unusual punishment having to live in an underground lab …” I glanced at Dickie Man’s growing scowl. “How about we, er get down to business then?”

  If I blabbered any longer, I risked blowing the whole operation … But I needed to know whose side Gan was on. I flashed him an embarrassed smile. “Before we begin, do I know you? I feel like I know you.”

  Gan chuckled, his perfect white teeth glowing in the darkness (white strips much?). “I think I’d have remembered a girl like you.” He leaned into a lusciously laid-back pose as he said, “People keep telling me I have an actor’s face, but so far, Hollywood hasn’t come knocking.”

  His smile was warm and gooey, drawing me in even more so than Orion’s easy nature, and I had to remind myself of Gan creeping up to me in my employer’s mansion with that damned nightmare book to break his gaze. The most frustrating part was that he was still playing dumb with me—no wink, no nod—meaning I was still in the dark as to how to proceed.

  “Heh, that must be it,” I laughed, turning as a well-proportioned blonde in a toga interrupted our conversation, offering us a tray of shots.

  “Fireball?” she said pleasantly with a pageant-worthy smile. “On the house.”

  A second woman appeared with a tray of wine glasses. “Or perhaps Drambuie?”

  Gan raised a hand to decline but the other two lieutenants accepted.

  “DRAMBUIE!” the Minotaur roared and somehow managed to grab two of the glasses and empty them down his great gullet without spilling a drop. “The closest thing you HUMANS have to AMBROSIA!”

  Dickie Man held up one of the shots, shook his head with a distasteful, “Fireball,” and threw it back.

  Several of the Red Bandana minions swooped in and grabbed the remaining shots and glasses, and the two women bowed and headed back for the side bar as a glowing green-skinned lich king in a toga sauntered up, an empty platter in his upturned palm. LK flashed me an exaggerated wink as he bowed and said, “May I taketh thee drinking glasses?”

  Freaking LK …

  “How adorkable,” Garfunkel said, looking pretty adorkable in his own miniature toga (thanks, Amazon.com).

  Typhon’s lieutenants and henchmen looked startled at LK’s appearance (it’s not every day you see a lich king in Ancient Roman wear), and for a moment I thought my plan might fall apart … but then the gangsters set their empty glasses on his tray as if they were respectable folks. One of them belched.

  Whew … LK definitely needed to work on his subtlety. Ironic, right? (Because he’s a ghost …)

  I turned back to face the stage. Caught a glimpse of Arachne rotating her DJ booth. She met my eyes, nodding so subtly I almost missed it as she dipped to the beat. It was hard not to get swept up by her stage presence as she bobbed and swayed. From the way the crowd stared up at her, I knew that most humans and Others found her irresistible as well. As long as she kept her lower half concealed by that fancy stage that had been such a pain in the ass to assemble …

  But I guess it was worth it; Arachne looked so happy. Hopefully things went well for both of us tonight, and I could find my way to Orion and she advanced her dream of DJ stardom, someday gaining the courage to reveal her true body to the world. She was really worried about being condemned as a monster and I can’t say I didn’t blame her …

  “I feel like you’re stalling,” Dickie Man said gruffly. “It looks like you came alone. Good. Now, you ready to talk? Or does Orion …” He raised a finger and drew it across his neck.

  With a last questioning look at Gan, who remained indifferent, I said, “Let’s talk.”

  “On Today’s Episode Of: ‘Cooking With Others’ ”

  “The artifact,” Dickie Man said as he pulled out a folded-up photo from under his biker jacket and passed it to me. Due to my extensive cooking knowledge, I immediately identified the artifact in the photo as a mortar and pestle. You know, stone bowl with a rounded grinding club—great for whipping up a batch of guacamole or grinding dry ingredients by hand. This mortar and pestle set was made of marble, not uncommon, but judging by the craftmanship, unless it was a forgery, it looked old.

  As in from-the-times-of-antiquity old.

  I smirked. “I didn’t realize Typhon was so big into food prep. He and I might actually get along. Not.”

  Dickie Man glowered at me, his fingers tugging absentmindedly at the garrote hanging around his neck.

  “A strange artifact,” I said. “Got any more info on it?”

  Both Dickie Man and the Minotaur looked nonplussed. Gan elegantly raised a ha
nd. “It’s part of an ancient alchemy set used by Isaac Newton, a lesser known practitioner of the occult. The items used to be stored in a London museum but were stolen years ago. Our resources now put them in a dwarven treasure trove located in an abandoned mine in the Pine Barrens of South New Jersey.”

  “Abandoned mine?” I asked.

  Gan nodded. “So it would seem.”

  I massaged my temples, trying to think with the club’s blaring music fighting for my attention. Luckily there wasn’t much to think about. This was just another job. “Sounds easy. I take it you have the coordinates of this mine?”

  Gan paused, avoiding my eyes. “Not exactly.”

  “Not exactly?”

  Gan cleared his throat. “Several freelancers have been tasked with finding it. None have returned. The Pine Barrens are purported to be, ah haunted.”

  “Haunted?” I said.

  “Haunted!?” Simon said.

  Dickie Man flashed me an amused look. “That a problem?”

  “No.” I rubbed absently at the raised welt of the magic tattoo on my wrist. “I’ll need a way to track down the mine’s location though. The Pine Barrens is huge.”

  Gan scratched lazily behind his neck. “We have a guide who says she’s found it, although she is stymied by how to gain entrance. You will go with her and using your skills, retrieve the artifact. Upon its delivery, we will discuss the terms of Orion’s, ah release prior to his entry in the Arena, which is to occur in less than 48 hours. Do we have a deal?”

  “No deal!” Simon shouted. “Haunted mine!”

  I didn’t appreciate the position they were putting me in. What was I going to do? Agree to work a time-consuming dangerous job with an unknown partner while Orion …

  See, I had no intention of actually following through with this wild goose chase. The goal of this undercover operation in the club was to gain intel on the whereabouts of Orion so that I could bust him out—not barter for his life. Of course, after a double cross and a prison break, Typhon’s goons would be hunting Orion and me for the rest of our lives …