Spider's Lullaby

by James R. Tuck

  120 seconds.

  I hit Send and dropped the phone back in my pocket. Turning, I leaned close to Tiff. Rising on her toes stretched her lithe body alongside mine. A line of heat flared to life as she brushed against me. I was very aware of the fact that she was still wearing a very sexy little black dress with a neckline that plunged low. Aware that the edges of smooth material curved up and over a swell of cleavage before crashing together. The memory of her and Charlotte earlier burned bright for a second.

  I put my face down close to her, lips almost grazing the soft skin of her earlobe. Her warm honeysuckle scent made my head spin. It was the smell of Tiff. Distraction clutched at my mind and I fought it down. My voice was hoarse.

  “Stay about five feet behind me. When I drop somebody, you hit them with a five count from your baton. Anybody starts to get up, hit them again.”

  Pulling back, I saw her nod, once down, then up, full lips pulled tight in a line of determination. I tore myself away from her crystal blue eyes.

  Time to go to work.

  9

  Two giant, jumping steps put me right in the middle of the gangbangers before they could react. My foot lashed out, snapping up under the table and flipping it into the air. Cards spun, flipping through the smoky haze. My thumbs pushed both trigger buttons, vibrating a buzz from the batons up into my forearms. I swung right, then left, crashing one baton against the side of a gangbanger’s neck. The jolt of electricity made him jerk away and stumble to the ground. The other baton brushed the front of a gangbanger as he was turning to scramble for his rifle. He twitched to a stop with the light shock and I lunged, ramming the electrodes against a narrow chest. He froze in place, muscles locked by current. I pulled away and he crumpled to the floor in a heap of baggy clothes.

  Spinning on one foot, I lashed around with the other. My boot heel struck a gangbanger still sitting in a metal folding chair, closing his mouth that had been hanging open. He slammed out of the chair, sprawling on the floor.

  The fourth gangbanger was digging in his waistband, shaking his head side to side. A fat joint hung off his lip, stuck there with spit, cherry burning his chin. His knobby knuckled hand came out from under his sweatshirt with a big nickel-plated semiautomatic. I slapped the gun with a baton, electricity sparking blue and bright along the shiny silver surface. The hand spasmed as he cried out, big automatic pistol clattering on the cement floor. Swinging backhand, I smacked him across the face with the other baton, knocking the joint free to fly away. His eyelids fluttered, spittle flying out of mush-mouth lips, as electricity sang across his skull. He crumpled to the floor, folding in on himself like dirty laundry.

  I turned, looking for the fifth gangbanger.

  He was standing with his back against the crates, an assault rifle in his hands. It was pointed at me as he screamed something in a language I didn’t understand. I could feel the tension singing off him. He was one second away from blasting me and Tiff with a thunderstorm of bullets. No way in hell would I reach him in time. I turned, eyes searching for Tiff, trying to put myself between her and the coming rain of death. His screaming reached a fevered pitch.

  One shot cracked across the air as Charlotte smashed him to the ground.

  They rolled, her spider legs ripping the assault rifle from his hands and flinging it away. They stopped with her straddling him. Gray fur-covered arms shoved a stun baton under his chin and held it there. His body went stiff, bucking underneath her. After a few seconds she stood in a fluid motion.

  I turned and Tiff was just stepping back from applying the finishing shock to the gangbanger I had kicked in the face. All of them lay on the floor, out cold.

  “Everybody okay?” I asked.

  Tiff nodded and gave me a smile. Charlotte stepped over to us.

  “I am unharmed.” Her unblinking eyes glowed at me. “We are close. I can feel my offspring. We are also very, very short on time.”

  “Minutes or seconds?”

  “Minutes, but only a few.”

  “Thank you for the information.” A deep voice spoke from above us. The English was flawless through a thick Japanese accent.

  “Now you may die.”

  10

  The Kensai stood on top of the crates. He was shirtless. Yellow incandescence cut shadows across his torso, highlighting a physique that was all lean muscle. Ink under his skin flowed in Japanese-style designs. The tattoos lay on him like a shirt, every inch of skin covered in pigment. Dragons chased bright pink flowers in and out of black wind bars, and brilliant orange koi fish swam through dark gray and black waves. The designs filled the space of a traditional Japanese kimono tattoo, stopping midforearm, collaring below the neck, and having a two-inch-wide strip of bare skin down the center of the chest that disappeared into the waist of wide-legged hakama pants. The cord-wrapped handle of a katana jutted out of the sash around his tapered waist.

  I had more tattoos than him, but only because I had more skin.

  His face was a mix of wide planes and smooth curves; almond-shaped eyes looked black in the overhead lighting, glittering under a fall of glossy black bangs. He began to speak in a guttural singsong language that wasn’t English, but it didn’t sound like Japanese. It was older. Heavier.

  And the sound of it made my teeth set on edge.

  His hand held a gem that looked like a ruby except it was bigger than any damn ruby I had ever seen. Damn near the size of a softball. The center began to glow as he spoke, red light blaring out around his fingers, outlining the bones like an X-ray.

  I dropped the stun batons and went for my gun. It was just clearing leather as Charlotte leaped in the air. A shrill scream tore out between her needle-thin, venom-covered teeth.

  The man didn’t panic. He stood there and spoke one final word that closed the air around us like a fist. A crimson lightning bolt cracked out from the gem, striking Charlotte in midair. It caught her, wrapping around, making her back bow. She hung suspended, head touching heels while the lightning crackled through her. Her skin turned translucent, red light shining between skin and skeleton as it whipped through her. She gave a scream that choked off as the lightning cut like a switch had been thrown. She dropped to the floor in a heap, completely human, laying motionless.

  I screamed out something, my voice tearing through the sudden silence. My finger squeezed the trigger, bucking the Desert Eagle in my hand, spitting bullets at the man. They cut the air as he spun, flipped, and disappeared into the shadows.

  I scanned the area, gun out, looking wildly around. He was gone. Tiff knelt beside Charlotte, fingers to the Were-spider’s neck. I kept searching as I moved over to them.

  “How is she?”

  She looked up. At some point she had dropped her baton and had her gun in hand. Her brow creased. “Not good. There’s a pulse, but it’s weak.”

  Shit.

  I picked up two of the AK-47s. Pulling back the bolts, I found them to be locked and loaded. I put one beside her and handed her the other.

  “Stay here. Guard her. If anybody comes here that isn’t me, you shoot their ass.” I gave her a hard look. “Don’t take any chances. You have to keep her safe; she’s the only hope we have to control her offspring.”

  She raised the assault rifle as her mouth set in a hard line. “I’ve got this. You can count on me.”

  “Good girl.” I stood up.

  “Deacon?”

  I looked down at her. “Yes.”

  “Kick his ass.”

  Will do, little girl. Will do.

  11

  The lights were off as I went deeper into the warehouse. The darkness watered down by edges of brightness around the metal and plywood coverings on the windows up high. Dawn had broken, the sun beginning to rise. I couldn’t see it, but I could feel it. Hunting monsters had set my internal sensors to know the setting and the rising of the sun.

  Sunlight is a haven for humanity. We shelter under it, safe from the horror in the night. When it sets, we lock ourselves behind thres
holds, doors, and walls, huddling together in our sleep, tucked away in dreams that insulate us from the dark. The night is the time of the supernatural, the thing that creeps in the night, the monsters. There have been many nights on the job that the only survival had been found by holding out for dawn and the first rays of salvation that crack the tyranny of night.

  Dawn also breaks the back of magick. It wasn’t a coincidence that dawn was happening and Charlotte’s egg sac was going to hatch any moment.

  I was moving quickly through the maze of crates. Gun out, laser sight cutting into shadows, eyes darting high and low. The skin on the back of my head was a clenched fist of tension. It was bad enough I had a gun-toting, sword-wielding, professional assassin to deal with; turns out he’s a freakin’ sorcerer too.

  Just my fucking luck.

  So each step was taken with senses on high alert, my power rolled out as far as I could push it. I could feel Charlotte’s egg sac. It was a fuzzy presence full of prickly, skittering little bodies pulsing with homicidal instinct, but nothing from the Kensai.

  Stepping around a corner, I saw that the crates fell away into an open area. I skidded to a stop, boots squeaking slightly on the polished cement floor. I slammed my back against a stack of crates.

  In the center of the open area was a forklift. It squatted, square and heavy, steel forks raised in the air. From one fork hung a basketball-sized bundle that looked like a wad of smoke-colored cotton candy.

  The other held Ronnie, wrists tied and hooked over the thick metal tine. They were raised high enough that her feet were inches off the ground. Her thick mane of dark hair hung covering her face. She had been stripped to her underwear, a simple matched set of boy shorts and sports bra. It was more modest than what she wore to work, but still shocking and lewd since it hadn’t been her choice.

  She wasn’t moving except for a trembling that ran down her arms and across her rib cage. That position gets hard quickly. If she had been hanging like that for more than a few seconds, she would be in agony. Her own weight would pull down on her, trying to separate vertebrae and shoulder sockets. The nerves under her skin would be on fire. Her diaphragm would be stretched to the tearing point, and anything more than a shallow sip of air would cause it to spasm, choking out her breath.

  I had been hung like that before. It is torture.

  Stepping quickly, I crossed the space, moving to her. She had fought her kidnapper. A dark bruise blossomed across one side of her rib cage, dirt smudged across her skin, and her knuckles were scraped raw. Her voice came to my ears, low and raspy, barely a whisper, words tumbling and tripping over each other. Hung like that, every word would cost her in pain. Recognition of what she was saying struck me.

  “... Hail Mary, full of grace ... the Lord is with thee ... blessed art thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb ... Jesus ... Holy Mary Mother of God, pray for us sinners ... now and in the hour of our death ...” She sucked in a sharp breath through clenched teeth, pausing before going on, “... Please, Mother Mary, send him to save me... . Hail Mary, full of grace ...”

  I touched her gently on the arm.

  She jerked like a live wire had touched her, convulsing back from my hand. Her movement made the forks on the forklift creak and sway. A strangled cry rose out as her head snapped up. The whites of her eyes gleamed bright and feral under a fall of dark ringlets. Dark circles of mascara that had run from tears and sweat surrounded them. They were too big. The irises danced wildly, crazed.

  My heart broke for her, for what she had gone through, spilling out into my chest. It took only a second for it to harden into a spike of hate and resolve.

  Someone was going to die for this.

  My hands steadied her, lifting her to relieve some of the pressure and pain. My voice was soft, low and comforting. “Ssshhhhhh. It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here now.”

  Her eyes jerked around in their sockets, not seeing me. I touched her face gently, smeared mascara made my fingertips sticky. She tried to see my hand, dark brown irises rolled deep in the corners of her eyes. Slowly, they rolled out, following my arm, tracing along until she got to my face. I saw them click into focus. Her lips moved to speak. Nothing came out. She swallowed and tried again.

  “Deacon?”

  I smiled and reached to my holster for the gravity knife. The blade slipped out with a small click. “It’s me, kiddo. I’m going to get you the hell out of here.”

  “Thank God.” Her face relaxed, just a little, through the pain. “I knew you would come.”

  I slashed the knife against the rope holding her wrists. Coarse fibers ran in opposite directions from the keen edge. Ronnie slipped into my grip, my arm keeping her from collapsing to the floor. The hot scent of voodoo smoke shook out of her thick hair, spilling over me. She moaned as her arms came down limply. I lowered her feet to the floor but held her up. She wouldn’t be able to stand for a minute.

  She looked up at me. “He’s dangerous, Deacon.”

  “I know.”

  “He wants the spiders to use as weapons. He says he can control them with that gem. He can send them to kill people no one else can get to.”

  Aha. That explained why he had stolen the egg sac. I looked down at Ronnie, pride mixing with my concern. “You didn’t have to get info out of him, kiddo.”

  A tiny smile twitched her lips. “I had to do something useful while I waited around for you to get here.”

  “Smartass.”

  Thank God her spirit wasn’t broken. Movement caught my eye. Looking up, I saw the egg sac was shaking. The skin under the webbing squirmed, lumps boiling to the surface, then disappearing, replaced by other bumps that bulged forth. The movement on the inside made the whole thing sway like a malignant piñata. It hung heavy, swollen, and ready to burst.

  It was radiating power too. Skittering power that pulsed out of it in prickly waves across my skin. It felt like a thousand tiny needles were running across me, microscopically snagging my skin with each step.

  “I have to move you.”

  She nodded and held on to me as tightly as she could with useless limbs. I scooped her up into my arms, carrying her like a child.

  I’d only taken one step when we were hit with a blast of crimson magick.

  12

  The red energy swept over us. Swirling. Crackling. Spitting power at us. The bloody lighting flashed across my eyes, popping over my skin in a shower of sparks. Every muscle I had jerked tight, locked in tension, braced against the agony I had seen Charlotte suffer.

  Nothing.

  I couldn’t feel anything—no pain, no heat, nothing. Turning on the ball of my foot, I saw the Kensai holding the gemstone out, red energy arcing across the space to hit me. The energy stream whipped in a column of crimson lightning. I heard him curse over the crackle. The magick broke, disappearing with a snap. He dropped the gem down, slipping it into a pocket. His other hand went behind his back. It swung back out holding a big Colt .45.

  Lunging away, I flung us behind the forklift, pulling Ronnie in and tucking her by the thick steel of the machine. The gun cracked out three shots that pinged off the other side of the forklift. Reaching over the seat above me, I fired off two shots of my own. I jerked my hand back before two more of the assassins bullets ripped through the upholstery.

  Dammit! I couldn’t stay there, trapped behind cover. It wouldn’t take but a few seconds for him to circle around, coming up behind us. I needed to know where he was. I called out, baiting him.

  “You should have known that spell wouldn’t work on me, dumbass! I’m not a spider.”

  His voice echoed in the open air, deep and accented. “Why are you helping Miss Vane if you are not like her?”

  I wasn’t surprised that he knew Charlotte’s last name, it just confirmed the level of professional assassin I was dealing with. I couldn’t tell where he was. He had moved from the last place I had seen him across the room, but the acoustics in the warehouse were for shit. I couldn’t pinpoint h
im, especially not with the aftereffects of gunfire ringing in my ears.

  “She’s my friend. So is Ronnie here, so you’ve got a metric shit-ton of ass kicking coming your way.”

  “Who are you?”

  He knew Charlotte’s name, so he probably knew mine. “Deacon Chalk, at your service.”

  “Ahhhhh, the occult bounty hunter. I have heard of you. I should have anticipated your involvement.” His voice was closer. I couldn’t hear a direction, but it was definitely closer. “You are nearly out of time. It is honorable for you to come for your friend, but you are now just more meat for my spiders.” He sounded only a few feet away.

  Knees flexing, I shoved my body up, arm slinging my gun out in front of me. The green laser sight cut away, splashing up and across the Kensai’s lean, bare chest. He was only a foot on the other side of the forklift, both hands full of nickel-plated semiautos. I squeezed my trigger in a double tap. The Desert Eagle spat two bullets out. They struck his bare chest just above the left nipple. Thin blood spurted as he fired off four rounds of his own. There was no time to move. Four .45 caliber bullets split the distance between us like magick. I didn’t even have time to blink.

  The Hand of God punched me in the chest, knocking me on my back. Agony burst across my sternum in a firestorm of pain.

  My God, that fucking hurt.

  Oblivion crashed into me, dragging me under.

  13

  Air, sweet air slammed into my lungs, jolting me awake. Pulling, I dragged as much oxygen into my constricted chest as I could. It was like breathing through a pinhole. I sucked in, heart hammering, the clench of my chest slowly loosening with each draw. The oxygen chased away the fuzzy gray spots on the edges of my vision, opening the tunnel. My ears opened at the same time. Someone was popping popcorn.

  No wait, that’s not right. My head was full of a green haze.

  “Are you okay?”

  I turned. There was a face there. A familiar face. Wearing a hood.