Saint City Sinners

by Lilith Saintcrow

  There was another component to my unease: we were near the same patch of sidewalk where the man who had raised me since infancy, had been knifed dead by a Chill-freak because his old chronograph looked pawnable. I used to visit the site every year, hadn’t since the hunt for Mirovitch. I wondered about going back, maybe buying some flowers. Wondered if I would be alive for the anniversary of his death, wondered if I could make up for the recent time spent with Japhrimel, when I hadn’t brought myself to the site because of distance or just plain cowardice.

  Time had become fluid while I lived with Japh. I wasn’t even sure what month it was. Only that the trees had lost their leaves but the streets weren’t cold enough for dead winter yet.

  Finally, after dark, Leander led us up Ninth Street and cut over on Downs, probably meaning to work down on Fiske to Klondel. I could have told him to take Avery instead—after all, Fiske would take us right through a really ugly part of the Tank District—but I was too occupied taking note of all the other changes that had happened to my city.

  I kicked at a Plasmalt Forty bottle; it clanked against the sidewalk. Downs was deserted this time of night, since all the reputable frowning businesses patronized by normals closed about seven. At Fiske and Twentieth we would start to see some nightlife, it was the edge of the hooker-patrolled part of the District. Even though Downs was deserted I could see changes—graffiti scrawled in permaspray, magbars on some windows—that warned of the Tank spreading this way. Trivisidiro was getting better; Downs was getting worse.

  Lucas and I also had other things to talk about. “A dead Necromance and my name. Lovely.” Someone had linked Gabe and me. It wasn’t surprising, given how often we’d worked together.

  “Yeah, you managed to stay incognito a whole twelve hours. Now everyone knows you’re back, and plenty know you look like a serious genetic remodel. Abra’s is getting hot, what with people coming and asking about you.” Lucas scanned the rooftops, blinked like a lizard, and massaged his left shoulder. It bothered me to see his clothes stiff with dried blood, though I couldn’t have said why.

  “Who’s asking about me?” When did I get so fucking popular? And do any of these people want to know about me so they could figure out if Gabe had time to talk? It felt good to consign all my problems with demons to the back of my brain. Even if the image of Gabe flung over the hemlock wouldn’t go away, making a strange choking sensation rise in my throat. I pushed it down.

  “Courier messages from the Tanner Family, four or five bounty hunters. A werecain—some shaggy bastard with striped fur. A Nichtvren girl; she left you an envelope. Couple slic couriers, a Shaman who works on a clinic out on Fortieth—”

  “Sekhmet sa’es,” I breathed. “Fuck.”

  He gave a small, whistling laugh. There he goes again, finding me funny. When did I become so amusing?

  “That’s not all. A corpclone from Pico-PhizePharm, too. Everyone’s lookin’ for you; lucky me findin’ you first.” Lucas’s steps matched mine on the sidewalk. Ahead of us, Leander turned on Fiske Avenue. His shoulders were level under his rig. He hadn’t flinched once. The streetlamps painted his hair with soft darkness, and he moved with the caution all bounty hunters acquired after a few successful but hard-fought collars.

  I like him, I decided. I’m glad he didn’t skip out on me.

  Lucas’s eyes followed mine. “Good kid,” he said grudgingly. “Came and found me at Abra’s. Told me the demon was slipping out while you were asleep.”

  I don’t know what’s he’s doing or where he’s gone. Par for the course, just when I could have used him. “Well.” My fingers ached around the katana’s scabbard.

  Trust me, Japhrimel kept telling me. Do not doubt me. He’d faced down Lucifer to protect me, and now he was gone hunting Eve and leaving me behind like a piece of luggage. Just when I thought I had Japh pegged as a good guy or a bad guy, he did something to confuse me all over again.

  “Beaudry also told me Boy Black warned him to stay away from you. Seems your demon’s jealous.” Lucas sounded far too interested and amused for my comfort.

  I shivered. Did Japhrimel think I belonged to him? Demons were possessive, everyone knew that. Way possessive. Had I put Leander in danger just by smiling at him? Enjoying his company?

  Well, let’s be honest here, Danny. You like the man; he’s a bounty hunter, and he’s human. Human, something Japh isn’t. You like hanging around him, and Japhrimel reacted the way any jealous lover would.

  I decided a subject change would be a fantastic idea. “How are we going to get in Abra’s front door without anyone noticing? If so many people are looking for me, at least one of them will figure out just to stay near Abra’s until I show up.” It was a dumbass question, and the sidelong look Lucas gave me showed he didn’t think much of it.

  “Abra’s spread a quiet rumor that there’s bad blood; you gypped her on the payment on that hush-hush Rio bounty. Said she’s going to take it out of your hide if you come near. Figured that was enough to keep most of ’em away. I’m gonna take you in the back door, Leander will waltz in the front and see if we have any eyes.” Lucas coughed, spat to one side. He sounded horrible, like a man dying of slaglung.

  “Good.” I didn’t even know Abra had a back door. “So any more word on the demon Japh’s after? Other than your Magi’s, I mean.” Eve. Is she here? If she is, where is she hiding? Why would she come here?

  Why would so many people—and other species—be looking for me? And bounty hunters too. Goddammit, Gabe, what’s going on?

  Gabe couldn’t answer, but it felt good to think of her as if she was still alive.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat, felt the rage rise again. Corralled it, again, with an almost-physical effort that made my rings ring with light.

  I couldn’t afford to get too angry, too soon. The trouble was, my control was wearing thin. The Gauntlet was so cold against my wrist, the metal heavy and dissatisfied. I shivered again, the feeling of a precog rising, pressing maddeningly out of reach.

  “Hope you got something worthwhile out of that bitch, that was an expensive favor I did her. All I’ve heard is there’s a demon in town and it’s dug in deep, gonna take a lot to blow its bolthole. But if anyone can, it’s your sweetheart.” Lucas let out another wheeze of amusement. I wondered why he always sounded so choked.

  “Don’t call him that.” I scanned the street again, the back of my neck prickling. “Lucas, we’re being watched.” Or had the sensation of being examined just stayed with me all the way from Cairo Giza?

  “Probably. You gonna give the demon a niner, Valentine? Or maybe send him a datflash breakup?”

  Maybe he thought he was being funny, but irritation rasped against my skin, along with the maddening feeling of something I’d forgotten to think about. “I’ll deal with Japhrimel.”

  He had the great tact not to laugh. A bloody great success you’ve been at that so far, Danny. My bootheels clocked against the pavement. The sense of being watched faded a little. Maybe my nerves were just raw . . . but just to be sure, my rings swirled and sparked again, anger turned to good use, bled off so I could think clearly. Saint City was big enough that the flux of Power would confuse my trail, but a half-decent Magi might be able to find me. After all, I was linked to a demon. “Lucas, do you know any other Magi that could be induced to talk?”

  “Depends on what you want to talk about.” He looked around again, a quick reptilian movement that made his lank hair swing. “Thought you said her debt was canceled.”

  “She gave me enough, Lucas. I just want to find out more. Another Magi might have a piece of the puzzle, might be able to tell me more about what I . . . am.” And tell me more about this little rebellion in Hell. I’ve thought all along that there were more players in this game than just Lucifer and Eve; it doesn’t make sense otherwise.

  “You don’t know?”

  Imagine that. Lucas the Deathless, sounding shocked. “I don’t know all of it. I’ve got some good guesses, I’m
figuring everything out.” I checked the hovertraffic again, rolled my shoulders back under the rig. Why was I so uneasy? It felt familiar, a half-remembered sensation of my skin crawling with little prickling teeth.

  It’s not a premonition. Then what is it?

  “You’re an idiot.” Lucas wheezed out another laugh. His lank hair ruffled with the night breeze, and I was struck by the fact that the unscarred side of his face was actually not bad-looking. I’d been too terrified to see it before, but he was almost handsome in a pale, yellow, wolfish sort of way.

  Well, except for the scars. And the slightly reptilian cast to his eyes. And his thin colorless lips.

  If you only knew how much of an idiot I really am, Lucas. I kicked another Plasmalt Forty bottle. Someone had a taste for something a little more expensive than soymalt. It must be bad around here, for the streetdrones not to come through and collect the bottles. Paper trash rustled wetly in the uneasy wind. The graceful arcs of plasteel streetlamps cast sickly orange circles on the street. No streetside hover- traffic, and the sudden sense of a storm approaching. “You try shacking up with a demon and killing Santino. Then try hunting down a rabid Feeder and having your brains turned into a barrel of reactive mush. I’m figuring it out, Lucas. Don’t fucking ride me, I’m not in the mood.”

  “What’s got you in a twist, chica?” True to form; my snarl didn’t even make a dent.

  Leander’s footsteps slowed. We caught up to him, but before Lucas could open his mouth I dropped my news. I had to tell him sooner or later.

  “Gabe Spocarelli’s dead. So’s Eddie—Eddie Thornton. Something got them both hit—but before she was hit, Gabe got my promise to hunt down Eddie’s killers. It’s personal.” You may decide it has nothing to do with you, Lucas. If you do, we’re going to part ways.

  I got a full five seconds of deathly silence before Lucas sighed. “Don’t suppose it would have anything to do with the bounty hunters or the Mob, would it?”

  “Or the Nichtvren or the werecain? Could be Lucifer playing with the mix again.” For a moment chills danced along my skin, the Gauntlet heavy on my left wrist. I wondered if somewhere in Hell, the Devil heard me when I spoke his name.

  The anger simmering in my belly rose to a fresh pitch. I should have never answered my door that rainy Monday morning. I should have never followed Japhrimel out of my house and into the subway.

  You must trust me to do what you cannot, then. The thought of Japh somewhere out in my city, hunting Doreen’s daughter despite anything he felt for me, made me glance over my shoulder and check the street. The whine of hover antigrav overhead made me want to look up. The silent street itself made me itch to get under cover. I told him not to hunt Eve. I told him I couldn’t let him hurt her. I warned him.

  “I hate to interrupt,” Leander said quietly, “but I think we’re being followed.”

  My thumb caressed the katana’s guard. “This is personal, and it looks big. It’s not what you two contracted for. You can take a vacation until I finish looking into—”

  I didn’t even get a chance to finish the sentence before a low sleek shape melded out of an alley on the west side of Fiske and loped down the street toward us. Lucas cursed, stepping away from me, a 60-watt plasgun appearing in his hand. Leander’s jaw dropped, and my sword clicked free of the sheath, my right hand closing on the hilt as the shape shook itself. A pleased little squeal sliced the bleeding air, ending with a rib-shaking growl as the hellhound hunched its massive corded shoulders and looked straight at me.

  Its eyes were glowing red coins. Heat smoked off its lithe, lethal body of living obsidian. It raised its head, sniffing like a dog scenting fresh meat. The cuff of metal on my left wrist suddenly ran with cold fire, blazing with lines and whorls of green flame over its smooth silver surface. And to top off the fun and games, Japhrimel’s mark on my left shoulder crunched into painful life as I tasted copper.

  “Leander,” I said quietly, “get behind me. And for the sake of every god that ever was, when I tell you to, run.”

  Lucas faded left, moving out into the street in a gentle arc to put himself between me and the thing. My right arm tensed, three inches of burning-blue steel leaping free of the scabbard. Gonna have to drop the scabbard and go for a plasgun, Lucas shot the other hellhounds, and it stunned them.

  The thing seemed indisposed to attack, just crouched there watching us. Watching me. I finished drawing my sword, and the steel’s heart turned white again, flaring with sharp pavement-drenching light. Runes of blue fire curled along the edges of the blade—a blessed weapon, but one that had its own strange ideas.

  Yet another thing to add to my rapidly growing to-do list: go visit Jado and ask him about this sword.

  Right after I visited Abra and started unraveling whatever had happened to Gabe. And hopefully before Japhrimel got back to find his agent tied up and me gone. I was getting very good at running away from him.

  He was getting very good at finding me. Now there was an uncomfortable thought. Of course he was good at finding me; I carried his mark and was referred to in the singular.

  Maybe he wouldn’t find me too quickly this time, though. After all, I was on home ground. Even a few years away shouldn’t have changed the boltholes and fluxpoints of the city too much. If there was one place on earth I felt capable of hiding in, it was Santiago City.

  Hiding sounds like a good idea. Just as soon as we figure out what to do about this thing.

  The hellhound paced forward a step. Two. Its eyes were still fixed on me, crimson coins in the shifting seaweed shadows. It hugged the opposite side of the street, and I began to feel a little . . . well, nervous. Fine time to wish Japh was here, at least now I’m absolutely sure he has a vested interest in keeping me alive, not just something as fragile as caring about me. Always assuming, of course, that Shaunley’s right and a Fallen demon suffers a mortal death if his hedaira’s killed.

  The hellhound’s slow, gelid growl rattled the air. Cool wind kissed my face, rich with the promise of rain.

  Okay, I was a lot nervous. My sword dipped, instinctively taking the guard against attacks from below. What was the thing doing? A hellhound had never hesitated before. No, they’d just come straight for me.

  A very nasty assumption began to surface under my conscious mind. I stepped forward, my sword ringing softly. Leander had turned to a stone, his aura flushed deep purple-red like a bruise. “Kel?” I whispered. “Velokel?”

  The hellhound growled again, and launched itself at me.

  Lucas shot four times, streaks of red plasbolt sheeting the air. I held my ground, dropping my scabbard and clasping the hilt in both hands, an instinctive decision that might cost me my life. But Lucas already had a plasgun, and he’d missed.

  Four times.

  “Run!” I barked, not looking to see if Leander did because the thing—dense heavy hot demon animal—crashed into me. It was appallingly quick, blurring with spooky demon speed, my sword chimed off claws as I spun aside, the mark on my shoulder lighting up with a fierce spike of pain. The cuff blazed green, a thin crackling whip of fire snaking out to lick at the hellhound, which let out a basso yowl of rage.

  What the hell was that?

  The swordhilt floated up, blade blurring, I made a low sound of effort as shining metal streaked down, sinking into the hellhound’s haunch with a deadly low whistle. It coiled on itself, I gave ground, shuffling back. My entire world narrowed to the threat in front of me; streaks of blue fire painted the air as my sword wove a complicated pattern.

  I had the oddest sensation—as if a rope attached to the cuff on my left wrist was jerking my arm around, quicker than I was meant to move. Didn’t matter—I set my teeth as the hellhound came for me again, another pass that drove me back. It was trying to pin me against the buildings on either side of the street, a death sentence. I remembered how eerily fast the hellhounds were in Freetown New Prague and was vaguely surprised to still be alive. The world narrowed to one thing—the hellhound, i
ts scraping scrabbling nails on pavement and my own harsh breathing, its low plasglass-rattling growl and my boots stamping as I smashed down with my blade and leapt like a cat, narrowly missing getting three glassy obsidian claws as long as my hand slicing into my midriff. I’d been eviscerated twice, had no desire to ever go there again.

  It was too quick. I could barely hurl aside its claws and had to fade to the side as it looped impossibly, turning with a much smaller radius than something so big should be able to. Its spine crackled as it jerked fluidly, turning. Black smoking blood striped the beast, and it favored its left forepaw as it hunched and snarled at me, apparently chiding me for my lack of ability to die respectfully when it attacked me.

  I snarled back, lips peeling from my teeth. Frustrated fury rose under my breastbone. I was happy to have the outlet—too happy, adrenaline overtaking good sense. I’d make a mistake, this thing was too quick for me to have a chance of winning the fight. Heart pounding, sweat sliding down my back and soaking into the waistband of my jeans—it took a lot of effort to make me sweat, nowadays.

  It backed up, one slow fluid uncoordinated step at a time, growling all the while. I considered advancing, my ribs flaring with deep harsh breaths. My left leg burned, high on the thigh—had it gotten me? I honestly couldn’t remember.

  Darkness breathed between streetlights. Fiske Avenue was utterly still. My aura pulled close, demon shields pulsing, my rings spitting golden sparks. The mark on my shoulder had settled into a slow steady burn, as if flesh had been partly torn away but not yet started to bleed. The wristcuff squeezed mercilessly, I almost heard small bones in my wrist splintering. A ragged huff of breath left my lungs; I tried frantically to think of something else to do. Throwing a runespell or two at it, or a tracker, would probably not work—I’d tried a tracker on an imp once, and gotten a head-ringing case of backlash for my trouble. Japhrimel had made the other hellhound rot with a word in the demon language, but he had also refused to teach me any of his native tongue.