Demon Dance

by Brian Freyermuth

  “She became with child,” Adam told me as we approached the door. He waved a hand and it simply opened. He continued in without further thought. “And I knew then that her fate was sealed, as was the child’s. There can be no child of mine and yours, not anymore. Both died in childbirth.” His feet made no sound on the hardwood floor.

  “But wasn’t there something in the Bible about the Nephilim?” I asked. “Angel and human spawn?”

  “Ah yes,” Adam said with a sad smile, “the children of the Grigori.”

  “But you’re…” I stopped. “Oh.” I could’ve kicked myself.

  “That is correct,” he said. “The others and I raised the Nephilim to try and take back Heaven. To try and finish what the Morningstar had begun. It did not end well. Just one of my many sins.”

  He stood in the center of the empty room and dropped his arms to his sides. And waited.

  “But you still haven’t told me what happened next,” I said, my mouth drying out. I wiped sweaty hands on my jeans.

  “After my love died,” Adam told me, “I simply…went away. Locked Azazel away in my mind until there was nothing but Adam left. I couldn’t tell you how I did it any more than I could tell you how a mortal blinks his eyes. One minute I was there and the next there was only Adam.”

  “Love is a powerful thing,” I said. “I think your kind knows more about free will than you’re willing to admit.”

  “Speaking of which, you are procrastinating.” He produced an elaborate dagger from one of his many pockets and held it out to me, hilt first. “It will be easier if you use this.”

  I took a deep breath as I held the weapon. It was an exquisite piece. A naked couple, a man and a woman, sat with their backs touching. Their bodies made up the hilt and their legs the crossbar. Each reached behind themselves to hold the hand of their mate.

  “Love and death, Mr. St. James,” Azazel said softly. “They are as intertwined as the trees outside.”

  I took a step forward. “I’ve done this before,” I said softly. “More than I’d like. But never to a friend.”

  Azazel smiled, and it was like the Seattle sun coming out from behind a cold stretch of gray. “And would you consider me your friend?”

  “I would be honored,” I said. He closed his eyes and lowered his arms to his sides.

  And I drove the dagger home.

  <><><>

  I stepped off the bus four hours later. After an hour of walking along Lake Samammish, I decided that what I needed was sleep. Like for a week.

  My apartment wasn’t particularly inviting, but the promise of rest was. I slowly walked up the sidewalk and past the peeling wooden fence, just letting the chill of the night seep in.

  My thoughts kept spiraling back to Cate, lost in Hell. “Only the One Above and the One Below can bring her back now,” Michael had said. Well, I wasn’t willing to make a deal with the One Below, and I hadn’t been on speaking terms with the One Above for at least five years.

  There are times when the cases don’t end well, I know that. I tried to remember Beth and her daughter, home safe, but then Cate’s shivering image intruded.

  Or Azazel’s peaceful expression as I stabbed him through the heart. I knew I had done the right thing, but it didn’t help the guilt.

  Not that any of it mattered. I was done. I hurried through the side gate of the complex and across the duck pond that masqueraded as a pool. The case was solved, the good people saved, and now I could go back to the life I had.

  “I’m just a writer,” I whispered as I walked up the concrete stairs and stood at my door. “It was a slipup, but that life is done.”

  A questioning meow answered me, and I looked down to see Walker standing on my doorstep, waiting for me.

  “Do I have a window open somewhere?” I asked. “Or did you grow opposable thumbs while I wasn’t looking?”

  The small cat just purred and rubbed against my legs. “Oh, now you need me to open the door for you,” I said as I picked him up. I fumbled with the keys a bit and then opened the door.

  I stopped petting the cat. In fact, I’m pretty sure I stopped breathing.

  The scent hit me first, like a collision into a brick wall. Cherry blossoms on a warm spring day.

  “Your shower’s running cold,” Cate said from my couch. She was sitting in jeans and one of my T-shirts looking through a stack of white paper.

  Walker dropped out of my hands as I stared like an idiot.

  “I found this in the bedroom and thought I’d take a look and see what’s so important for you up here,” she was saying. “Romance novels, really? Although I do like the pen name you chose for yourself. Lilith Ann Taylor. She’s probably up there laughing right now…what’s wrong?”

  I managed a monosyllable, but that was about it. I slowly closed the door and tried to pull a thought together.

  “Look, I’m sorry about reading your book,” Cate said as she closed the manuscript. “I only read the first few chapters. It’s pretty good if you like that sort of thing.”

  “You…” I stammered. Yeah, that’s me, the great communicator. “You’re here.”

  “I let myself in through the window. Those are some pretty nasty wards, but the ones over the bed ran away when I pulled myself up.”

  “But you’re here,” I stated again. See? Great intellectual, me. “How did you get here?”

  “I just told you. Look, I’m sorry about the break-in, but I didn’t have anywhere else to go, and‒”

  I didn’t let her finish. I swept her up into an embrace that threatened to crush her. I buried myself in her hair, just breathing in her scent and not wanting to let go.

  “Hey, yeah, OK,” Cate said as she softly pushed away. “You found the cross, huh?” For the first time since I knew her, she flushed with embarrassment.

  “I thought you were dead,” I said as I held her out at arm’s length. Along with other things, I thought.

  “Yeah, about that,” she stammered. “I’m sorry. It was kinda a spur of the moment thing, really stupid. But the case I was on came to a standstill and I was in way over my head. My clients‒”

  “You mean the angel death squad?”

  She frowned. A strand of flaming hair fell into her face and she pushed it back behind her ear. “How do you know about them?”

  I tried to think, tried to put it all together, but my mind couldn’t grasp that Cate was here, in my living room, and was alive. Well, as much as she could be.

  “OK, let’s go at this from another angle,” I told her as I stepped back. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

  “I was hunting around a lead I had. I didn’t find anything, so I came here.”

  “The senator’s house?”

  “OK, now you’re starting to freak me out. Are you psychic now?”

  I shook my head. “I can’t…Jesus, Cate, you made me think you were dead.” Anger began to replace the relief and the shock.

  “I know,” she said, casting her eyes down. “It was stupid. But I was drowning, Nick.”

  I didn’t say anything, but simply glared at her. I knew what she meant. Archangels, demons, specters from my past wanting me dead.

  “Look, I’ll just go,” she said as she stepped back. “I’m sorry about it all, and now it doesn’t even look like the case is going to be solved anyway. I’ll leave you here, and you won’t have to worry about me showing up ever again.”

  It doesn’t matter if you fail. The words came back to me. It matters that you try. It’s all we can ever do.

  I realized how I had been waiting for death to come, barely scraping by, barely noticing those around me. Jake and I were friends from way back, and even then I saw him only when I needed him. Thelma and I had never really talked before this week. And both of them had helped me even though their lives were at risk.

  Then there was this miracle. I hope it was the Big Kahuna upstairs that granted me this, because the thought of owing Old Scratch made a sick knot in my stomach. Yet I foun
d that at that particular moment, I really didn't care. I had what other people could only dream of. A second chance.

  The Pain would always be there when I thought about Ann, but at least I would have some joy to go along with it.

  Cate made it to the door before I pinched the bridge of my nose with my fingers. “Wait.”

  She stopped and looked back. I took the chance.

  “You want some dinner?” I asked. “I’m starving.”

  Her smile lit up her face. “I’d love to.”

  “This doesn’t mean I forgive you for the whole fake death thing,” I told her.

  She tried to hide her smile. “Of course not.”

  “I mean, really? That's like a soap opera script right there.”

  “The Young and the Undead, that's me. Hey, it worked, didn't it?”

  “Yeah.” I smiled. “Yeah, it did.”

  And just like that, Cate and I rejoined the land of the living.

  I hope you enjoyed Demon Dance as much as I did writing it. Come grab a free story and some info on Nick’s upcoming adventures by signing up with my Sundancer newsletter.

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  COMING SOON

  If you enjoyed DEMON DANCE, keep an eye out for

  Mind of the Beast

  The new Sundancer Novel

  By Brian and Juliet Freyermuth

  Coming August 14, 2014

  CHAPTER ONE

  The flaming teddy bear sailed through the air like a cute and fluffy Molotov cocktail.

  “Shit!” I swerved, barely avoiding the manicured hedges. The cuddly abomination smacked the battered windshield of my red Mustang.

  Just once I would’ve liked to answer the phone in the middle of the night and have it be good news. Instead, I pulled up to a house that was trying out for the lead role in Amityville Horror. But there was no way I was going to make Thelma face this alone.

  I ran past the smoldering remnants of the teddy bear and made my way up the stone path to the front door. The wooden porch creaked from the shaking. The white drapes in the windows whipped back and forth, making it impossible to get a peek at what was happening inside. The house didn’t exactly feel evil, but the power in the air made the hair on my arms stand on end. It took me a moment to recognize the rhythm of the vibrations.

  Lub-dub. Lub-dub.

  Like a giant, malevolent heartbeat. Yeah, I could have lived without making that connection.

  “Thelma?” My voice sounded hollow, as if I were listening to it through an old time radio.

  A muffled cry from inside turned my fear into rage. Suddenly, night was as bright as day and my hearing became acute. My muscles adjusted as the adrenaline added strength and speed to them. I’d had this gift for as long as I could remember. It might not be normal to be able to lift a Humvee, but it definitely came in handy in situations like this.

  The front door fell off its hinges as I slammed it open against the wall. The whole place shook like a bed at a cheap motel. A dinner plate hovered on the edge of the coffee table before it crashed on the floor. Where the hell was Thelma?

  A short burst of maniacal laughter came from upstairs. Bingo. I ran toward it, navigating a maze of shattered picture frames and mirrors. They lifted off the ground as one and flew at my head. Is this the best you can do? I thought as I smacked another one aside. Somehow I knew I was going to regret thinking that.

  All the while, the monstrous heartbeat sang through my bones.

  A red glow oozed out from around the frame of the door across from the stairs. Time to see just what the hell was going on. The thumping stopped and the house quieted as I grabbed the doorknob.

  “Crap,” I whispered.

  The door was locked. Of course it was. Sorry, Thelma, but desperate times and all that. With little effort, I broke open the door, leaving the hinges dangling from the splintered frame. She was going to be pissed, but hey, it opened.

  You know the old cliché about the place being as silent as the grave? Yeah, that was like saying the Colorado River was just a creek for the kids to splash around in. The stillness of the room pressed into my senses, like a giant tick trying to burrow into my head. The silence was hungry.

  I quickly took in my surroundings. Books lined the shelves, a couple of reading chairs and antique lamps straight out of Masterpiece Theater. It would’ve been quaint, except Thelma sat cross-legged above the rug. Three feet above the rug.

  It was like a meditation video and The Exorcist all rolled into one. She hovered in the air with her back to me. Her shoulder-length black hair stuck up in a frizzy cloud around her head, and her sleeveless tank top was pale against her dark-brown skin.

  On the wooden floor, someone had drawn a cross over a square box with a fine dark powder. Various arcane lines and spirals ran through the symbol, surrounded by a human skull, a bottle of dark rum, and a few black and purple ribbons. Damn, what did Thelma get herself into?

  “Well, hey, good looking,” I said. “I was just in the neighborhood and decided to check out the party. So, which one are you? Gozer or the Keymaster?”

  “Sundancer,” Thelma said in a voice that was hers, yet wasn’t. The wasn’t part was a man’s voice. It had a deep bass that vibrated in my bones. “Sundancer, Sundancer, Sundancer,” the voice repeated.

  Sadly, he wasn’t riffing on my Ghostbusters reference, but rather my nickname. Man, I hated that thing.

  As she chanted, Thelma began to turn in place above the floor. She spun lazily, and about halfway around, she lurched off balance. One slender leg touched the ground, and she steadied herself. A short, drunken laugh escaped her lips.

  I did a reality check, as much as I could while my friend hovered like a demonic yoga expert. One, Thelma was possessed by what seemed to be some kind of Voodoo spirit. Two, the spirit was flat-out drunk.

  Thelma faced me and gave a burp that rattled the windows, followed by a giggle in that same weird dual voice.

  “Good trick,” I told her as I pushed aside the panic. I needed to stay calm if we were going to get out of this alive. “You do Bar Mitzvahs? How about Vegas?” This was not someone to spook, as the flaming teddy bear could attest to. Without thinking, I glanced up at the charred hole in the ceiling. I could see the moon through the opening. “I know,” I said before I could stop myself, “how about interior decorating? You could do skylights and color swatches.”

  The spirit chuckled and lurched again. “You talk so brave, silly man. But I can taste your fear.”

  “You’re going to taste something else in a minute,” I said with all the bluster I could manage, “unless you give me back my friend. Now.”

  “There is no one else here. Only Oussou. So few call these days. Oussou is here, and Oussou must have rum.”

  “You have rum right there,” I said casually, even though the adrenaline coursed through my veins. Nothing would have given me more pleasure than to pulverize that thing, but instead, I pointed at the bottle of rum at Thelma’s feet.

  “That’s not my rum!” The thing roared as half a dozen books lifted off the floor and exploded into flames.

  I barely had time to throw myself back into the hallway as six literary missiles streaked through the doorway. Their heat passed within inches of my face as I pressed back against the wall. One of the missiles hit the wall opposite and left scorch marks around the plaster, but the other five sailed down into the living room.

  The house shook again as Oussou raged in the library. A dozen books and three porcelain dolls all spun in a manic hurricane around Thelma. She seemed safe enough, but if the house burned down, that was another story. I sprinted back down the stairs and stomped out the flaming books, leaving nothing but no
vel-shaped ash stains on the carpet.

  I was in the middle of stomping out the last two smoldering paperbacks when a fist-sized wooden Buddha hit me in the back of the head. White-hot pain seared my skull as I struggled to stay upright. The ominous lub-dub-lub-dub started up again.

  I had to do something. Wrong rum, huh? An idea started percolating that was just crazy enough to work. I staggered forward as blood trickled down the back of my neck.

  Something smacked me on the back of my head. I turned just as the mysterious weapon hit me across my right cheek. Thelma’s belongings made their way toward me as something used my skull as a piñata. Soft, eerie music came from the attacker. I dodged again and realized what the damn thing was. The clarinet whipped past my head as I sprinted into the dining room toward the kitchen.

  I raised my arms in an attempt to ward off the chaos, as the clarinet continued its merry tune. Various pictures, ornaments, and that damn clarinet jabbed me repeatedly, all to the rhythm of the heartbeat, of course. As I got close to the kitchen, the pace increased until that damn woodwind shot toward me like a bullet, embedding itself into the china cabinet inches from my chest.

  Another tune floated through the air as a huge Peruvian pan flute swung for the fences. I ducked under it and rolled toward the open kitchen door. I was on my feet and inches from the doorway when the throw rug yanked my feet backward. You can guess which direction my head kept going. And you know what? The music stayed in tempo.

  Stars danced a wonderful little flash mob around my vision as my head bounced off the floor. My brain refused to catch up, at least until the ceiling fan sparked and shuddered. The thing groaned as it wrenched itself out of the socket. Instinct took over, and I rolled out of the way as the fan slammed to the floor where my head had been.

  Stumbling to my feet, I lurched into the kitchen, half blinded and cursing the entire way. Give me a demon to fight any day, but how the hell do you fight a house?

  The island in the center of the kitchen, with its marble top and drawers full of cutlery, tried to pull itself out of the floor. Yeah, this was the last room I wanted to be in, but necessity tends to drive even the craziest of plans. I hugged the wall as far away from the rampaging furniture as I could get.