Pound of Flesh_An Urban Fantasy Novel

by J. A. Cipriano

“Mistrunners,” I growled through clenched teeth. The Children of Danu, Celtic demigods who were the product of Irish deities and the Outlander love groupies who got a little too wild after a pint too many of Guinness. They had Druid-like powers, dominion over the earth and the energy it emitted. More importantly, they also could render themselves invisible in every atmosphere but their namesake. They weren’t as strong as me, but they had me outnumbered and I couldn’t see them.

  “Ecolass!” I cried as the invisible hands pulled me forward. A cloud of mist filled the room in a thick, settling torrent.

  Suddenly, I could see them. Muscled up redhead guys wearing golden armor and cereal eating grins. They were built, rippling arms, puffed up chests, intimidating calf muscles; all of it. Two were at my feet, each pulling me forward. Two more were at the mouth of the hole, chanting to keep it open.

  Disgust filled me. Time was when Danu’s kids had pride in themselves. They wouldn’t be caught dead working under someone, even a fairy with multiple personality disorder. And they certainly wouldn’t kill. Not for anything.

  A hazy flash of green darted through my line of sight. Claws and fangs tore into the people at my feet. When the mist fell, Gary had been able to see them and he’d wasted no time, especially since they couldn’t see him. That didn’t surprise me. Imps had been extinct in the emerald isle for hundreds of years, and it wasn’t like Fulton could teach them anything in that regard.

  Their glowing green eyes widened in shock and surprise as cuts and bites appeared their faces, necks, and arms. Gary had been a fighter for most of his life. Even before I found him, he knew where all the vital arteries lay. It didn’t surprise me when he hit them.

  “Saints alive!” I heard one of the men shout in a ridiculously thick Colin Farrell-esque accent. He pulled away, clutching his neck in a vain effort to stop the river of red running from his torn carotid artery. Gary could have taken the second out as well, but he was on his guard now. Besides, I didn’t want my imp having all the fun.

  “Cementis,” I said under my breath and sent a shock of energy through the Druid holding my ankle. The words sent forth a wave of energy that began to turn the man’s body to stone. It started at his feet, a slow grey tint creeping up, locking his joints into place. Spreading fast, the wave rippled up his legs, solidifying them with a sickening crunch as the spell caused his arms and legs to twitch and tingle as they transformed. Finally, it intruded upon his chest, making its way to his neck where it would eventually encompass his head, like rising water.

  He freaked the fuck out as one is wont to do when they find themselves turning into a statue. He let go of me, and I gave him a hard kick. He fell backward, his stone legs unable to help him regain his balance. By the time he hit the floor, the rest of him was stone too. He shattered like a china cup, sending shards of his stone body across the cement.

  The mist lay thicker than ever as I stood. The other two Mistrunners were still chanting over the sinkhole. It roared, as if hungrier than ever. Fine. If it wanted to eat, I was going to feed it.

  I leapt through the air, using my mother’s energy to propel me over the hole. I landed atop the Mistrunners and slammed my elbow into the right one’s jaw, snapping his head back, and as he wobbled, I drove my foot into the other’s knee. The sound of snapping bone and cartilage filled my ears as he dropped, screaming to the ground.

  The first one recovered as I turned back to him, and channeling energy into the blow, punched him right in the chest. I thought of myself as Iron Fist as my knuckles plowed into their sacred, golden armor. As he wobbled back, evidently shaken but not stirred, I wondered why Iron Fist wasn’t more popular. He was a pretty cool character, and if Marvel seemed intent on making Rocket Raccoon happen, it seemed unfair not to give Iron Fist the same treatment.

  The Druids didn’t seem as impressed with me though. As the one I hit fell on his ass, the wind circled around me, pushing out the mist and once again making these sonsabitches invisible.

  Soon, I found myself on the business end of some Irish justice. Fists and feet flew at me from God knows where, knocking me to the ground just inches away from the sinkhole. A rush of cool air as the Druids, still unseen, pushed me toward the open maw.

  My head went off the edge, and I saw my life flash before my eyes again. Gary was clawing at the bastards but, without being able to see, he found himself fruitlessly hitting armor.

  The darkness rose up around me as my head dipped further into the open hole. And then it hit me. Druids harnessed nature. So did Mistrunners. The opposite of nature was the unnatural, the supernatural. And I was going to hit them where it hurt.

  “Incentace,” I said, and the literal fires of Hell sprung up around them.

  Yep. That’s right. My mom can summon hellfire. Guess it’s a trick she learned from my dad before he slipped back off into demon world. That almost makes up for the whole “dying while giving birth to me” thing.

  The Mistrunners leapt backward, and I clawed at the side of hole. Gary grabbed my free hand and helped as I pulled myself back up.

  By the time I reached the floor again, the Mistrunners were scorched and screaming as they thrashed on the ground.

  “May the road rise to meet you, you fuckers,” I said, remembering the only Irish piece of poetry I had ever heard.

  Standing, I took a look around. Aside from the smell of burning Irish douchebags, the room was clear, but still empty.

  I took a step forward, and as I did, the elevator doors opened. A flashing clock read 11:56 across it. Four minutes left. Fulton knew we had come back in, and she wanted to play. Fair enough. Let’s play.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Gary said, looking from the elevator to me.

  “I try not to,” I answered and marched toward the open elevator. It smelled of a trap, but I didn’t care. After all, they say the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. They’re wrong. The shortest distance between two points is a trap.

  “You suck,” Gary muttered, but since it was followed by the patter of his footsteps behind me, I didn’t pay it much attention.

  The elevator doors banged shut as soon as we entered. The metal box flung upward so quickly my stomach fell into my toes before screeching to the halt with enough force for my feet to actually leave the ground.

  As the doors opened, my mother’s power pulled at me urgently. Whatever I was about to come into contact with was freaking her out. My mind raced. What could that be? Vampires, ghouls, zombies?

  God, I hoped it wasn’t zombies. The damned things were so messy.

  As the doors swung open, it became clear to me what my mother was so adamantly afraid of.

  “I should have known,” I said, stepping out of the elevator and staring right into the horrible, vacant eyes of Charles Whitmore.

  26

  “You should have known a lot of things, I’m afraid,” Charles Whitmore said, staring at me as I walked through the open elevator doors.

  The room we now stood in was smaller than the one I had just left and, though I suppose it should have been the lack of an open floor plan, something told me that this entire floor was smaller than the base as though things like size, shape, and height held little importance inside this building.

  The room was lavishly furnished with a square redwood desk against the far end (describe the other furniture). Red carpet and matching paint on the walls was studded with bright gold accents. Charles Whitmore wore a suit with his blond hair brushed back and his face clean shaven. He looked a world away from the thug I had busted back in the mini mart all those nights ago.

  “This ends now,” I said because that’s always what you were supposed to say in a do or die situation. Power rushed through my body; the sheer amount of which would have been unfathomable to be just minutes before.

  I had very little time to save Renee, which meant I’d rock this loser like a hurricane if that’s what it took.

  “This ended a long time ago, abomination,” he answered, pi
cking up a glass of what looked like scotch from the desk and taking a long swig. Setting it down, he wiped his mouth and grinned at me. “You still haven’t figured it out yet, have you? What all of this is about?” His eyes narrowed. “You don’t even know what I am.”

  “I know what you’re about to be,” I answered, a surge of anger pulsating through me. I didn’t have time for this. “A corpse.”

  Charles Whitmore laughed like I was the best standup comedian he’d ever heard, slapping the desk with the palm of his hand. “You see. That right there showcases your incompetence. If you had any idea what I really was, you’d know there was little chance of that.”

  I moved forward, letting my mother’s power channel through me unimpeded. “Less talk, more fight,” I growled and threw my hands forward. A stream of red energy rushed from my hands and bolted toward Charlie like a race horse just let out of the gate.

  He barely moved the fingers of his free hand while he took another sip of scotch. My power melted away.

  “Maybe we should go with less talk, more listen,” he said, smashing the glass against the counter. Insanely, I felt myself break like the glass as though it were my legs and my arms.

  I folded to the ground and looked up as he strode toward me a confident smile on his smug face.

  “The Charles Whitmore you arrested was a misogynistic serial killer who owed Fulton more than he could have ever conceivably repaid. When you brought him in, he started talking. He spoke of a magic man with glowing red eyes and a pained expression on his face. It got everyone’s attention.”

  Damn, I knew that was going to be an issue.

  “So, it was decided he would die, and I would take up residence in his body,” Charles Whitmore said, raising his hands and showcasing himself like he was a prize in The Price is Right.

  “You’re not Charles Whitmore?” I asked, feeling a little of the symbiotic pain from the broken glass subside in my extremities.

  “Not even a little,” Charlie said, circling me like a lion with its prey. “Think of me as a sort of spiritual liaison.”

  “A liaison for who?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. Was this more complicated than I’d originally thought?

  “For a man who is capable of providing Fulton with a favor she desperately needs.” Charles Whitmore eyed me carefully. “He has many names but for the sake of simplicity, I’ll call him the Founder. He seems to like that. However, the Founder doesn’t work for free, he requires something for his trouble.”

  “Renee,” I said as I felt a pang of ridiculously poignant terror rail against my chest. A spark of energy bubble up unprovoked in my gut. My mother was trying to tell me something, but what?

  “It didn’t have to be Renee. The brother would have done. It was he, after all, who owed the debt.” Charlie shook his head. “You would think that, at this point in man’s evolution, a boy would know better than to sell his soul for the promise of good grades and future success. But that’s what I love about this new world. It’s so secular and sure of itself. This new generation thinks they know everything.” Charlie shrugged. “But he ran away, dropped off the grid entirely. I hear Fulton looked everywhere for him. In the end, she had to settle for the next best thing. Oh well, Cypress blood is Cypress blood, after all.”

  A fuse lit in my heart. Nicky had sold his soul for the answers to a math test or something and hit the road, leaving behind a sister who was willing to die for him. If that sonofabitch wasn’t already dead, I was going to kill him.

  “Why?” I asked still looking up at him and trying not to react as the spark in my gut transformed into a full blown fervor. “What’s so special about Cypress blood?”

  “Not my department.” Charlie smiled in a way that suggested he wouldn’t tell me even if he did know. “All I know is Fulton has two minutes before my boss comes calling for his payment. If she wants to make good on the deal, she’ll make sure the ADA is right where she needs to be.” He leaned down to me, his ugly face shining with oil as he smiled. “And, since I don’t like to disappoint my boss, I’m not going to let you ruin things, regardless of who your daddy happens to be drinking buddies with.”

  My heart skipped at least ten beats. He just mentioned my father. I didn’t even know my father. I felt the power in me ratchet up a few notches and a flash ricocheted through my mind. Demons, and not the physical kind. These were of the non-corporeal variety. The sort that came from way down south and hijacked bodies they had no business in.

  That’s what this thing was. I felt what my mother would have done to him, what any warlock would do to him, and I suddenly knew what this power was for. I could do this. I was born to do this. Well, mostly born to do this.

  “You think you’re hot shit, right?” I asked, giving him a wide grin. “You think because you wear a nice suit and call yourself by a fancy title, I don’t see through you? You’re a lap dog. You’re a low level demon from Hell who wasn’t even lucky enough to be born into a real body.” I leaned forward, arching myself upward as I watched the anger grow on Charlie’s face. “You’re a joke. Just a jealous fucker born in the bowels of the underworld who uses big words and smarmy mannerisms to make himself feel better about not even having his own dick.” I glared at him, letting the energy in my chest travel to my hands. “You can tell your boss he’s not getting my girl because you’ll be seeing him in Hell.”

  He leaned forward even further, taking the bait that I was dangling out at him. Demons were so damned easy. Make them angry and they’re in your face. No questions asked. I could feel the energy begging to be released from my hand, but he still wasn’t close enough. So I did what I had to and threw a punch at him. He grabbed my hand quickly and pulled me even closer, as I knew he would, readying to take me out. He wouldn’t get the chance.

  I thrust my right palm directly into Charlie’s chest and let the power flow from me and into him.

  Charles Whitmore lurched backward, his entire body shaking.

  I stood up quickly, feeling Gary settle at my feet.

  “You okay?” he asked, his voice tight with worry.

  “I will be,” I said, as words I swore I’d never, ever use flew from my mouth. “Incatase! Entrantace! Incae!”

  They were the words of exorcism, words I never dared to speak, but my mother was keeping me safe. She was holding me together, and she was pushing this body snatching loser right back where he needed to be. Hell.

  Charles Whitmore’s body glowed with the same red and green energy that still surrounded me. He screamed, his face twisting in stretched and unnatural positions.

  “He won’t like this! The Founder won’t forget!” he screamed and then, in a whiff of burned rubber and brimstone, Charles Whitmore’s body tightened. His skin began to redden and sizzle as if the evil pulling at his insides was burning him all the way through. His eyes widened helplessly as they reddened along with his skin. I could feel his heart. First as it sped up, and then as it began to slow. His entire body started to weaken to an integral level. His bones began to deteriorate, his legs snapping under him. The back and forth relay of the energy kept him standing though, like an electrical field freezing his otherwise slumped over body. His cheeks began to hollow out as his face lost expression and his red eyes darkened. Then it was over.

  “Then let him come for me himself,” I growled, watching the life leave him. A rush of something sick, twisted, and a little bit delicious filled me. I was exhilarated and pumped. And I hated myself for feeling that way, like I was giving in to some base urge that had always been there inside of me.

  It was over. Charles Whitmore was dead. Now all I had to do was pull Renee from the clutches of Fulton. I had all of two minutes to get it done. Piece of cake.

  “I’m taking that scotch,” Gary said, looking over to the bottle atop the desk.

  “Not now. We have to find a way up to Renee, and we have to do it fast,” I said as a sudden wave of exhaustion hit me. One glance at my mother’s necklace, and I knew why. The amulet in the middle h
ad begun to crack.

  I reached out, touching it with one finger, and as I did, it started glowing again. The bright red light blinded me, and I felt a rush of air and then forward momentum. We were being teleported.

  When I opened my eyes, Gary, and I were standing in Isa’s penthouse. The black car still sat parked in the middle of the room. Isa stood off in the distance, her hands glowing with white energy, and Renee stood in the center of a circle of blood, her hands bound together with chains.

  Above her, the clock read 11:59.

  It was go time.

  27

  Fulton chanted something, her body pulsing with glowing white energy so she sort of looked like a deranged sea anemone. It was strange, seeing Isa like this. She had been a huge part of my younger years. She had been a lover, a friend, a pain in my ass, and even the person I turned to when things were going bad. We might have grown apart in recent years, and she might have seen me as a relic whose usefulness had long since passed, but I had always seen her as one of the benchmark people of my life. And now she was this.

  The tragedy of it all sunk into me in a way it hadn’t before. She was sick, this woman, and this was the result of that sickness.

  I wanted to hate her. I wanted to grit my teeth together and make all of this as black and white as possible. But I couldn’t. She wasn’t to blame for what happened here. The tear in her mind was. It didn’t mean I wasn’t going to stop her, kill her maybe if that’s what it came down to. Still, I didn’t want to do it. I wanted to help her, and that sucked.

  Renee’s eyes fell on me, her dark orbs filling with tears as she took me in. She mouthed the word “run” and I shook my head. I hadn’t come this far to wimp out now. This was the endgame, and the only way out was to go through.

  “You’re too late!” Fulton yelled, having presumably finished whatever chant she was doing when we came in. “He’s on his way. He’s been summoned, and he can’t be turned back.”