“You’re a genius, my love,” said Mimi, caressing Vinter’s face. “I can’t wait to be back in Hell. Now, let’s celebrate.”
The image on the screen distorted as Mimi took her true form before the file abruptly ended. Lotus snapped off the television.
“So you see,” she said. “You’re being played. Vinter doesn’t want freedom.”
“He wants Hell,” I replied.
“Dangerous game,” said Josiah, his eyes clouded with trouble.
Amalfi wasn’t speaking. She stared at the ground, her bronze human features miserable. I reached over and put a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it away. She got up, suddenly, and left the room.
“So, what’s the play?” asked Josiah.
I thought about it. I wasn’t sure. I had a rifle that might help me kill the Patron, but if I did, I’d be handing over Hell. On the other hand, I didn’t have any real desire to kill Vinter. The guy had played me, true. But he’d played Amalfi and trusted her to keep tabs on me. Based on the look she’d worn walking out the door, there was a zero percent chance of that happening. My initial instincts were to run.
“Lotus,” I asked. “What would happen if the mantle changed hands, theoretically speaking?”
Lotus frowned and looked down. “There isn’t much record of mantles of this power changing hands. The last time it happened was in the Mediterranean, in 1347.”
“The Black Death,” Josiah said, grimly.
“So, we’d be looking at a big body count?” I asked.
Lotus grimaced, her features creaking as her face rearranged.
“Yes,” she rasped.
“And this is all because of a power struggle for Hell?” I asked. “Why does that have to be so lethal?”
“I have an idea” Lotus replied.
I motioned for her to go on. She shot me a look of annoyance.
“I don’t know how it works in Hell,” she said, “but I know how infernal power works on Earth. It’s how vampire compacts work. Greater powers—demons, oni, spirits, fae, elder gods, whatever they may be—can bestow compacts upon those they favor. They take small slices of their cosmic power, their control over forces of the universe, and parcel it out to their followers. Each vampire coven has a compact which dictates what powers they have, how they can use them, and how they can recruit. If that coven changes hands, and the compact is rewritten, all those with power imbued under the old contract perish. Usually violently.”
She looked at me.
“It stands to reason that the courts of Hell function the same way. There is likely some kind of compact from an even greater power that gives your former Patron his powers, but has more far-reaching consequences. The Patron draws power from bureaucrats. They’re all magically linked to him, and were he to lose his power, they’d all die.”
“A world without bureaucrats?” I asked. “That’s a bad thing?”
Lotus looked at me and shook her head. “You damn fool. Most of the world runs on bureaucracy. If this mantle changes, we’d be looking at a lot of dead. For all I know, it could be everyone with a current driver’s license.”
Silence hung over the room.
“You think they know?” I asked.
“Mimi and Vinter might know something, and they might not. Compacts are kept close, and they might know how to activate some obscure clause in it that would transfer ownership, but not what that transfer would entail. Unfortunately for you, that clause might not be ‘Kill the Patron with a witness older than a millennium.’ It might be ‘shallow Aaron Eckhardt-looking white guy dies with holy weapon in hand.’”
“Maybe Aaron Eckhardt 10 years ago,” I deflected. “But I see your point. They may not have sent me to kill him, they may have sent me to die.”
As I was busy verbally defending my handsome visage, Amalfi walked back in. She took a seat on the couch next to me and plopped her head on my shoulder. She was sobbing. I awkwardly reached up to comfort her.
“I know,” she said, tears streaking down her face. “I know what would happen if the mantle changed hands.”
“How?” asked Lotus, skeptically?
“It was discussed. Not when Mimi was with Vinter. Earlier. When I served her and the Patron in Hell. Lotus is correct. Everyone who works in the cogs of bureaucracy will perish. Government workers, corporate accountants, soccer moms who like to keep PTA records…all gone. You mortals love bureaucracy. It’s made the Patron strong. I thought we were going to kill him and remove the domain. With a domain removal, the damage is all in Hell. With a transfer, though, the new compact activates and purges the old to make room for the new. It would mean a massive loss of life.”
“Give us a number,” urged Lotus.
Amalfi looked at her. “Two billion. Easily. Most of the so-called developed world. A large part of the world’s tech infrastructure. Every doctor more advanced than a tribal shaman.”
An uncomfortable silence blanketed the room, and we all avoided eye contact.
“If it matters, Mimi and Jerry both know. They used to talk about how horrific something like that would be. Something’s changed, if they’re willing to go through with it. We have to do something,” said Amalfi.
“I think we should consider leaving,” I offered. “Certainly, there’s some kind of magical shelter or something.”
Amalfi punched me, and I felt the touch of a claw that wasn’t there.
“No, Nick Soren,” said Amalfi. “You can stop this. Vinter trusts you, or at least needs you. This is your chance to do something worth a damn.”
I looked at Josiah and Lotus.
“I agree with Amalfi,” said Josiah. “This is the right thing to do.”
“Well of course Godboy would say that,” I said. “Lotus, you’re the strategist. C’mon. Isn’t bailing the smartest thing to do?”
She shook her head.
“Maybe it would keep us alive for a bit. Maybe we could live in peace,” she said. “But if you think in terms of decades and centuries, like I do and like Mimi does, someone else will come along who’s willing to kill the Patron. Mimi is the problem. She must be removed.”
I wasn’t surprised to hear it, but I didn’t want to. I had a feeling about what Lotus wanted to do with Mimi.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll put on my hero cloak.”
“If it helps,” said Lotus, “know that if this went through, at least three of us in this room would be among the two billion dead.”
She pointed to me, then to Josiah, then to herself.
“That’s if anyone kills the Patron or activates the clause,” I said.
“Someone will,” Amalfi said, confidently. “It’s the way Mimi plans. You are probably one of many options she has planned.”
“Which brings up another issue,” Lotus said. “Mimi used to be a wife to the Patron?”
“Yes, that’s correct,” confirmed Amalfi.
“So, her powers are likely dictated within that compact.”
“How can we get a look at that compact?” Josiah interjected, his eyes alight with curiosity.
Lotus shook her head from side to side, considering her words.
“We may not need to see the compact,” she said. “We may only need to access the parts of it relevant to her powers.”
The jiangshi paused, once again considering the options.
“There are two ways,” she said. “Since the physical copy of the compact is almost certainly stored in Hell, I doubt we’d be able to get to it.” She looked at me. “But there’s another way. We can summon the Patron and ask him for the details.”
I jumped out of the chair, the ice pack falling into my lap.
“Are you out of whatever the fuck is left of your goddamn mind?” I asked, nearly shouting. “I’m not summoning the Patron. He probably wouldn’t tell us the truth. Are we supposed to believe a devil?”
“He’s not going to lie for the sake of lying,” Amalfi said. “His demesne is at risk. No duke of Hell would willingly allow a threat li
ke this to develop.”
“Then why doesn’t he do something about it?” I asked.
“Maybe he can’t reach that far south,” Lotus said. “Maybe he’s not aware. Maybe he hasn’t appointed another knife who would take care of this kind of task for him.”
“Alright,” I continued, trying to ignore the hint of panic in my voice. “Even assuming he’d be honest, did you forget where that USB came from? He knows I’ve been tasked with killing him.”
“Incorrect, pup,” Lotus offered, wagging a finger. “The Hellhounds did. They’re both dead. So are Skov and the Lyndale Coven.”
“And you think they didn’t share the information with their boss?” I asked. I would’ve been terrified to hide anything from the Patron. The first three times I met him, I reflexively told him my credit score, my most embarrassing high school memory, and all the unholy thoughts I entertained about my 7th grade social studies teacher. I got a bit less nervous as my service continued, but when you’re in a power paradigm with someone who has eyes and ears everywhere and can end you in very unpleasant ways, it’s better to err on the side of sharing too much.
“No,” said Lotus. “You would’ve, because you were a mortal, and a coward—”
“Thanks,” I grumbled.
“—who had no ambitions within the courts of Hell. If they’re anything like vampire courts, they’re full of intrigue.”
“I know plenty about intrigue,” I protested. “I survived in the financial world for six years. I had to do a lot of ass-kissing, and I knew when to withhold sales!”
“Sure,” Lotus said. “But you were used to gambling pride, money, and potential accomplishments. You weren’t used to gambling your life. Those climbing the ranks of organizations founded in blood must bleed to bet. The Hellhounds knew this. I would wager all the power vested in me by the Compact of the Silent Stars that they did not pass it on. They thought you an easy mark to impress their boss. So did Skov. As you proved, that was a bad wager.”
She waved her hand dramatically.
“Now it’s time for you to take a page from their book. You’ve done your former Patron a great favor, rooting out weakness and deceit. He knows these intrigues happen. He allows internal struggle so long as it doesn’t ruin the strength of his domain. What happened when the vampires attacked you? The death of two Hellhounds and the functional destruction of one of the largest vampire covens in the Midwest. The Patron may not have noticed yet, but he will notice when the tribute doesn’t come next solstice. He won’t be happy with you if he knows you’re at the bottom of it, unless he knows they instigated it. So, make him happy. Tell him. I know you’re magically illiterate, but you do know how to summon him, right?”
Suddenly, I was back in the basement of my old place in Edina. The basement had been cleared out. My wife lay prostrate in front of me, her blonde hair framing her doll-like face. She was begging for her life as I took the ceremonial knife to her throat, and the Patron smiled with too many teeth. I cut her jugular. Her blood ran into the grooves of the pentagram, which glowed. The Patron laughed, or maybe growled, as the blood began boiling. All around me, it was suddenly hot. My wife’s corpse was burning and charring in front of me, her skin first, then her flesh, until I was holding a skeleton that was still frightfully warm to the touch. It turned to ash, and I screamed and cried as the ash scattered in an impossible wind. I didn’t have anything to remember her by. In some ways, I was glad.
“I accept your sacrifice. Welcome to my service, Nicholas. Should you ever need to summon me, you now know how. Make sure you make the sacrifice first next time, or your offering may receive the same chance you did. Please do not summon me for trivial matters, as I am a very busy man.”
The Rite of Summoning was ingrained in my brain, the words he’d said accepting my unintentional pact. Summoning the Patron wasn’t like calling Amalfi—a little spot of blood—I would need a corpse’s worth.
“Even acknowledging what you’ve said, I don’t want to do this,” I said. “You guys have to think of another way.”
“There might not be another way,” warned Lotus. “Vinter and Mimi may have something else planned.”
“That’s how they’ve been the entire time they’ve been together,” said Amalfi. “It’s how Mimi’s been for millennia. The time to act is now, and the quickest way is to talk to the Patron.”
I looked at Josiah.
“Surely, you can’t be cool with summoning a duke of Hell to ask for help. There’s no way this is what Jesus would do.”
He looked down at his feet. “Nick, two months ago, I would’ve given you a great fire and brimstone pitch about the seduction of Hell and the dangers of infernal deals. Right now, I’m not sure I see another option.”
“You realize the summoning will take a human sacrifice? You’re okay with that now, former right hand of God?”
Josiah looked away and refused to answer.
“Guess I’m not going to get any help,” I said, throwing my hands up.
A pregnant pause hung over the room. Amalfi looked at me with disappointment and Lotus with consternation. Josiah avoid looking at anyone.
“You guys really want to go through with this?” I asked. Josiah continued to stare at his feet.
“Acceptable losses,” muttered Lotus. Amalfi nodded. I wondered, absentmindedly, if Mimi and her husband had tossed around the same term when developing their scheme.
“None of us want to do this,” Amalfi said. “None of us trust the Patron. But two billion lives are at stake. Yours is one of them. You would choose not to sacrifice someone to protect…what, the shreds of your integrity? Your conscience?”
I didn’t have the heart to tell her I was terrified of the Patron. Amalfi looked like she knew.
“I’ll do it,” I said. “But we’ll need someone to sacrifice.”
“No matter,” Lotus said, dismissing me with a wave. “I can get someone who will not be missed.”
* * * * *
Chapter Sixteen: The Summoning
We left the Twin Cities and headed into the wilderness of Wisconsin, to a small lake near Eau Claire. There was no Lyndale Coven to worry about, but Lotus insisted it would be better if we didn’t stay there. I didn’t want to ask questions; I feared other supernatural entities might prey on us. Lotus had a cabin there, one of the many gifts she’d received from the supposedly unappreciative Roseville Coven, which she insisted would suit our purposes. I took her at her word. Rituals made little sense to me, and I couldn’t explain what would be a good site if my life depended on it. Which it might.
Amalfi had secured a vehicle, and we rode in silence. Lotus did not want to expose Collette to the summoning, so after a brisk goodbye, the doctor had headed back to her clinic. Josiah had explicitly stated he didn’t want to go. I got the feeling his ties to heaven made him dislike the idea of going to Hell for help and the necessity of a human sacrifice. But a part of him, perhaps the part disenchanted with the Heaven that disarmed him and cost him his family, recognized that what we were doing had merit, so he had not attempted to stop us. That left Amalfi, Lotus, and me to do the dirty work.
Lotus, true to her word, had dug up some miscreant. She assured us he was a convicted rapist. We covered his head, gagged him, gave him a potent chemical cocktail to keep him calm, and sat him in the back. He was clad in soiled state penitentiary clothing. I didn’t want to know how Lotus got him. I didn’t want to know anything about him.
The only person I’d ever sacrificed was my wife, and that was as much out of desperation and survival as anything else. The Patron kept in touch with me on his terms after that. I had a lot of apprehension about the whole thing. It wasn’t the murder; I was quite immune to feelings of guilt by then. The random guy could’ve been a hitchhiker, someone’s dad, or a random marketing exec, and I still would’ve been peachy drawing a blade across his throat. The bleeding part wasn’t what frightened me.
What I feared was the being who would answer my blood call, and
the stakes he’d demand. It was my fear of being in training again, of Baby Face Nelson cutting off one of my fingers for being too slow on the draw and laughing as it grew back, only to have Forrest cut it off again. I feared being ordered to kill more people whose transgressions made no sense. I feared losing what precious little control I’d regained of my life.
Call me a shitty person, but I would’ve sacrificed 50 prisoners to do this outside of the scope of the Patron.
We parked outside Lotus’ cabin and walked in. It was a typical log cabin, in need of repair and a good dusting, but not falling down. There was no electricity, just candles and gas lamps. She lit a few as we hustled our sedated captive down the uneven stairs into the basement.
The unfinished room was cold and damp, with a stone floor and walls that made me feel like I’d entered a dungeon. Some of the gear on the wall reinforced that notion.
We sat the captive down and got to work. It took us a few hours to prepare the room—painting the pentagram, lighting the scented candles, setting up where we’d sacrifice our prisoner. Lotus agreed to be the mistress of ceremonies. Amalfi hustled around the room, getting everything in order according to Lotus’ commands. I sat near the captive. Lotus handed me a knife made of something dark that glowed when there was no light on it, with a three-inch blade. It was quite dull and inscribed with Chinese letters I didn’t recognize.
“You’ll have to force it in and cut hard,” she said. “It will take time, but it will enrich the blood and ensure we get a good connection.”
“What happens if we don’t get a good connection?” I asked.
She frowned. “We all visit Hell sooner than anticipated.”
After three hours, we were ready. The sedated captive moaned. I told him it would be over soon. I wasn’t lying.
Lotus stood at a candle-adorned lectern. She was wearing her traditional Chinese garb in dark blue, with a little, rounded cap and the vestigial purity seal. Amalfi knelt next to her in her human form, dressed in somber oxblood robes, a silver circlet adorning her head. Lotus began reading in Latin, the preferred language of the Patron, and Amalfi repeated the words in a monotone. Lotus motioned to me as she finished her incantation. I gripped the dagger and gently pulled the sackcloth up, exposing the captive’s throat. I plunged the ornamental dagger into his trachea and wiggled it side to side, cutting a jagged hole. He gargled as blood sprayed, and as he expired, I lowered his corpse to the pentagram. The blood pooled around it, then seemed to take on a life of its own, coursing through the outline of the pentagram. As the blood raced around the circle surrounding the star, heat coursed through the room. The candle flames flared threefold, then in a bright flash of sulfur accompanied by a chorus of human screams, I was face-to-face with the Patron. He wasn’t in his human guise; he didn’t need to be. He was in the form of a jet-black devil, with cloven hooves and glittering sapphire eyes. Sigils of his station—his ownership—were cut in glowing, lava orange into his obsidian skin, but otherwise, he was nude. His goat head looked at me, its spiraling deer antlers trailing off into nothing, hints of starlight dancing on their tips when I wasn’t looking straight at them. He was floating a foot off the floor. The goat head surveyed the room before settling back on me. The room felt much colder, and I suppressed an urge to shiver.
The Devil's Gunman Page 24
