Strangers in the Night

by E M. Jeanmougin

  “Little hybrid,” growled the demon, “you are playing a very dangerous—”

  CLANG!

  Folami stumbled. He caught himself on the counter, then spun towards what had struck him. There was a second loud CLANG, and Folami’s spin went further than anticipated, blood bursting from his lips as he cantered several feet to the left and collapsed a table. As he went down, Jasper saw a very surprised-looking Crimson dressed only in his jacket and holding a manhole cover in both hands. “Huh, I didn’t know they still made these things outta iron.”

  Folami surged back up, toweling the blood from his lips. “Spider, I have had about enough of you.”

  “Oh yeah, I’ve never heard that before.”

  The caster flourished towards him, the distance between them too narrow to be avoided, but Crimson planted the circuit of iron on the floor and curled behind it like a shield, and Jasper threw himself to the floor behind the counter.

  What few windows remained burst outward in a shower of glass. The mirror above him shattered, raining glittering shards. Rows of ceramic mugs on the shelves exploded. Jasper crawled to the end of the counter, thankful for the leather of his own coat, and peered around it.

  Crimson was stubbornly back on his feet, and the blast appeared not to have hit him, though the town car had been repelled back out into the street and the tables and chairs were blown against the walls.

  Folami was gone.

  Jasper scrambled out from behind the counter and grabbed Crimson’s hand, dragging him towards the crumbled wall and snatching up the fallen table leg as he went. “C’mon, we gotta go.”

  Crimson stumbled after him. “Jazz, wait, you don’t understand. It didn’t—”

  A massive clawed hand seized Jasper’s other arm and ripped him away from the werespider, nearly tearing his arm from its socket. He struck the asphalt. Glass tore through his clothes, pierced his skin, and he screamed before he could stop himself. Folami loomed above him, his face a mask of blatant insanity.

  “It just knocked him out the window,” Crimson murmured.

  Thanks for the heads-up, thought Jasper dazedly. He tried to rise, but Folami’s booted foot struck him under the ribs, knocking the wind out of him. Coughing, lungs burning, he fell back into the glass and rubble, blinking the dark spots out of his vision.

  Overhead was the whipper whap of helicopter blades. A bright light burst down on the three of them.

  Folami grinned savagely and stomped down between his shoulders, pinning him to the ground, as Crimson stopped short.

  “I really should thank you, spider. My amassed wealth has made expanding my collection such a mundane task. The pair of you have made it much more interesting.” Overhead, a man was leaning out through the open door of the helicopter, screaming through a megaphone for all of them to remain still. “But now, I am afraid, it is time for us to go.” He stepped off Jasper’s back, grabbed him by the hair, and raised his open palm towards the helicopter.

  “You crazy bastard, don’t you dare!” shouted Crimson.

  A surge of energy erupted from Folami’s palm. Two of the chopper’s blades split away. A plume of flame ignited in the cockpit. The helicopter listed then swerved, then spun out and plummeted towards the ground. Folami readjusted his grip around Jasper as he struggled, locked an arm around his throat, and then moved with sudden, deceptive speed.

  The helicopter struck the ground behind them, erupting in a burst of fire. Jasper felt the heat even a dozen meters away. His feet tried to find purchase against the ground, but it was too far away, and with the crushing arm latched around his throat, his vision was growing dark.

  “Hands in the air!” A row of armed police officers emerged, over the hoods of parked cars, from the alcoves of nearby buildings, wearing riot gear and carrying useless shields. Jasper tried to scream at them to run, but it only choked out as a rasp. The sounds of their gunfire split the air.

  Folami made a sweeping gesture, and Jasper watched in horror as the bullets twisted around in midair and flew back in their direction, striking half a dozen of the humans dead in a single gesture.

  Folami moved, taking a step up onto the back of a Ford; then his feet suddenly went out from under him. They both slammed down on the roof of the car; Jasper twisted out of the headlock and threw himself to the cement.

  Crimson barely looked like a person anymore, flesh charcoaled and oozing with lesions, eyes two fiery pinpricks in a mask of blackened skin and pouring blood. He strained back with Folami’s ankle gripped in his hands, only to take a hard kick right in the chin.

  Jasper, white eyed and furious, looked around. The tailpipe of the Ford was old and loose in its mount. He seized it with both hands and twisted it free. A rusted section cracked into a splintered tip. He forced himself to his feet, turned the sharp end of the tailpipe between him and the caster, and threw all his weight forward.

  There was a sickening, wet squelch. His arms jarred. The metal sank through the demon’s torso and struck the carriage of the car behind him. Jasper wrenched it back and forth, skewering his innards as the demon shrieked and flailed wildly at him with both hands, catching him with his claws, gargling and screaming for him to stop. He ripped the pipe out of Folami, cocked it back, and slammed it across his lips instead.

  The demon fell aside and started to crawl away. Jasper sent the broken sharp end spiking down into the back of his neck, pressing until the unyielding resistance of the pavement below stopped him.

  For a moment, Folami’s toes drummed on the ground, muscles twitching. Then he lay still in a widening pool of his own blood. Jasper felt no surge of victory, nor any sense of joy. Then Crimson’s fingers were on his wrist, and what he felt was impossible to describe.

  Crimson stumbled, and Jasper caught the bulk of his weight, but his own legs felt weak and shaky, and they both ended up going down, almost in slow motion.

  “Both of you stay where you are!” a nearby voice warned. Jasper followed the sound of it and saw an officer creeping slowly out from behind a car, gun raised.

  “Possums,” muttered Crimson, and slumped suddenly lifeless beside him. Jasper had seen this trick enough to recognize it, but not emulate it. Going to his knees, he half-raised his hands as the cop shouted into his radio for backup.

  “What the fuck is going on here?” he shouted at Jasper.

  “He was trying to kill us,” explained Jasper as calmly as he could. “I, uh… don’t think you should get any closer.”

  “Don’t threaten me,” said the officer. “You say any more creepy shit like that, and I’m gonna put a bullet in you. Can you walk?”

  “Yeah,” said Jasper, and he was pretty sure that was the truth.

  “Then keep your hands up and get over here. Slowly.”

  Keeping his hands raised, suddenly and painfully aware of every cut and bruise on his body, Jasper got to his feet and walked slowly towards the cop. Their eyes were focused on one another, so the other man didn’t see the spider until it surged past Jasper in a blur of black and red. His gun went off twice, directly up into the air. Jasper lowered his hands and walked past the crouching eight-legged horror, trying not to look at the massive fangs as they injected venom into the man’s throat, or at the man himself as his innards began to melt, and his body started to deflate inside his uniform, eyes bulging in disbelief.

  He just kept on walking until he made it into an alley, where he stood, resting against the wall and breathing deeply to try to clear the panicked sickness in his mind.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  —

  Gimme Shelter

  Jasper was in the alley no more than five minutes when he felt Crimson’s fingers on his shoulder. Shakily, he turned to face him. The lesions were gone. The copper color of his skin was now returning, chasing away the charcoaled black like a ripple in a still pond, but many of his wounds were still open, some of them still bleeding. His coat was torn at the shoulder, folded closed over his otherwise bare body. He was basically naked and s
till a mess of blood and burn and wear, but Jasper hugged him anyway, though quickly and not too tightly.

  “I told you not to do anything stupid,” Jasper whispered. The relief was enough to catch his breath again.

  “I told’ja to run,” replied Crimson, squeezing him closer. The cuts on his arms and chest ached, but in that moment, Jasper would not have traded the pain for ecstasy. “Good thing we’re both bad listeners, huh?”

  “I guess,” replied Jasper. He knew he should have been angry at him for having killed the cop, but he couldn’t imagine what other choice he had. Just lay there, pretending to be dead while the police arrested Jasper and then hauled him away to the morgue? He would still have had to hunt. The hunting was part of who and what he was, just as it was part of who and what Jasper was. He let go, looking nervously up towards the sky. The police officers would send more helicopters, more men. “We need to hide. Did you find Alcander? Is he—”

  “Al traced your cell phone. That’s how I found you.”

  He remembered Shane handing one of Folami’s men a box of Jasper’s “personal effects.” His phone must have been among them, probably as well as his gun, and Crimson’s. He wondered if the incubus had done it on purpose. Surely, now he’d had ample time to get as far away as possible, ensuring that Crimson couldn’t hunt him down and skin him alive.

  “So he’s okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  Jasper heaved a relieved sigh. He wanted to say something else, to thank him or… something, but he didn’t really know how. He would try later, when time was not so short and words were not so hard. “Alright. Let’s get outta here.”

  #

  The city was swarming with police. There were accidents (mostly small ones) on nearly every corner, and Jasper and Crimson, dressed mainly in their own blood, were extremely conspicuous.

  They took shelter in a church, which was closed due to the late hour and thankfully did not seem to have a security system. There, they found spare clothing and blankets in a donation bin, as well as water and wine to wash the cuts on Jasper’s arms, and an emergency medical kit containing gauze to dress them.

  Halfway through this process, Alcander called. They took turns assuring him they were okay, promising him they would find their way home in the morning, swearing they weren’t in any sort of danger. By now, Shane would be a thousand miles away, and Folami and every single one of his men were dead. Jasper was a little worried about the incident in the street, but he was sure the Hunters at St. James would already be rushing to cover it up, and Crimson told him the demons had their own division for cover-ups, as did the spellcasters. Since the scuffle between them and Folami touched all three factions, he was sure it would be handled with due haste on all fronts.

  Jasper tried to let this comfort him… though he thought of the way Hunters “handled” such things, usually involving the lethal disposal of the parties involved, and was a little worried something more dangerous than human law enforcement officers might soon be out looking for them if they weren’t already. He couldn’t handle any more fighting tonight, nor any more running. His arms and legs felt like they had been injected with liquid lead, and his emotions were so raw from the extreme roller coaster of fear and panic, rage and horror, heartache and relief, that they seemed to have whittled away into nothingness, leaving him numb and hollow.

  Crimson led him up a flight of stairs to a balcony overlooking the pews. The space seemed rarely used, probably reserved for special occasions when the congregation was larger than usual—Christmas and Easter sermons, the occasional End of Times scare. Crimson used spare blankets and clothing to build a makeshift bed in the corner, where the carpet was softest, and the draftiness was minimal. Jasper, exhausted beyond exhaustion, nestled in with him.

  All he wanted was sleep, but now that the opportunity was here, he felt like he could hear every siren in New York. The church itself was dead silent apart from the whistle of crisp fall wind through its lofty eaves. Overspill light broke in through the long stained-glass windows. Mostly white. Occasionally red and blue. Pulling a blanket over his head, he rolled to face Crimson. “Are you asleep?”

  A sliver of red glinted. “Not now.”

  “It’s too loud in here,” whispered Jasper. “Or too quiet. I can’t tell which. I don’t understand how you can sleep, with your ears and everything.”

  “Same way I always sleep,” said Crimson, both eyes opening now. “Pick a sound; focus on that. It’s easier when there’s another person. The sound of your heartbeat just sorta blots everything else out.”

  “Oh,” said Jasper. This was new information and connected some of the dots as to why demons probably kept familiars in the first place, but it didn’t help him now. “I can’t do that.”

  “I can keep talking,” said Crimson, “’til you fall asleep.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “My sire used to say it was all I was good for.”

  Three months earlier, Jasper would have said that this wasn’t far off the mark, but now he disagreed. It occurred to him that Crimson never mentioned his sire. Jasper had never thought to ask. “What was he like?”

  “Jazz, we can talk about anything,” said Crimson. He sat up a little, propping himself against the wall. “Except him.”

  Jasper edged into the space he had left, almost but not quite against his hip. “You brought it up.”

  “Yeah,” said Crimson. “I guess I did.” His fingers stole down to Jasper’s hair, stroking gently through the curls.

  Jasper tensed at the touch, suddenly nervous of the werespider’s intentions, but when it went no further, he relaxed. When he put the anxiety from his mind, he actually found it quite soothing, the light graze prickling delicately, easing the buildup of tension. He hadn’t known the space between his shoulders was so tight until it wasn’t.

  “But if we talk about Apocalypse, then I’ll be the one who can’t sleep.”

  “That’s your last name,” commented Jasper, not a question.

  “Yeah, that’s sorta how it works. My human name was Zahir. When we’re reborn, we change. Not just… physically. Our minds, usually our personalities. So our sires give us new names and we take their first name as our last. Mine wasn’t all that creative. Red marks. Red name.” He was silent for a long moment, then, “I don’t even like red.”

  Jasper laughed at that, though he didn’t mean to. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “I, uh… couldn’t you just change it?”

  Crimson shrugged. “I did, sort of. I mean, it’s in English now. But it’s, y’know, my name. I guess I’m kinda attached to it. Besides, I like the way this one sounds.”

  “It sounds kind of ridiculous,” replied Jasper, breaking this to him as gently as he could.

  “Yeah, I know. That’s kind of why I like it.”

  “I like it too,” Jasper admitted. The name suited him, and Jasper could no better think of him with a different one than he could imagine him as a human. He looked up at Crimson, just able to make him out in the low lighting, the curve of his high cheekbones, the faint glisten of his burgundy eyes, a shade almost like velvet. His dark hair was still damp, shiny as a raven’s feathers, and tousled in the sort of carelessly deliberate way that a human would have needed full hours and plenty of product to achieve.

  Jasper thought about how he wanted to run his fingers through the damp ends of Crimson’s hair, and about how tired he was, tired physically but also tired of not doing the things he wanted to do. He was tired of being scared, so Jasper touched the werespider’s hair, smoothing it gently behind one perfect ear. It left his fingers wet and cold in the cool air of the church and left the rest of him shockingly warm.

  Crimson’s fingers paused in their own stroking, then moved to trace the curve of Jasper’s jaw, sending creeping warmth through his veins. He tilted back Jasper’s chin, thumb grazing his lower lip, and leaned closer. Jasper took a short breath in but did not draw away. He looked into Crimson’s eyes, trying to tell him what he wan
ted without words, and Crimson closed the small gap between them, pressing their lips together in a soft, slow kiss.

  His lips were even softer than Jasper imagined they would be, and sent a shiver of arousal racing through him, lighting him up from inside. It was like coming alive. Before he knew what he was doing, Jasper wrapped his arms around the back of the werespider’s neck, pulling him closer and kissing him back with wild, desperate need.

  He’d kissed people before—girls—but it had never been like this. He’d never liked it so much. Dizzy and breathless, Jasper broke their lips apart, panting. Shaking his head lightly, he looked into Crimson’s eyes. “Please don’t stop.”

  Crimson’s long fingers dug deeper into his curls, pulling him closer, though not, Jasper thought, close enough. “I’m just gettin’ started.” His hands left his hair, running down his back to wrap around his waist. He hoisted Jasper up and into his lap, the half-blood’s legs straddling his, their chests pressed together. Jasper was rock hard, his erection pressing against Crimson’s stomach through the borrowed sweatpants, Crimson’s own cock against his backside. The werespider brought their mouths back together, more forcefully than before, kissing him until his lungs burned for breath, then rocked Jasper onto his back, his lips going to his throat.

  Jasper’s knees squeezed around his waist, a little groan escaping him. Crimson gave a small growl, letting his teeth brush against the thin skin above his collarbone. “Gods, Jazz,” the demon breathed. The tips of his fingers traced across Jasper’s hips, going under his shirt and up his stomach, igniting nerves he never knew he had. “You’re so fucking gorgeous.”

  Jasper was thankful for the dark. Though he knew the other could see as well as he could in the light, he could at least pretend that the high flush of color in his cheeks wasn’t visible. Crimson’s words seemed to help him find words of his own though, and that was clearly what the other wanted. “Your lips feel amazing,” he murmured huskily.

  Crimson nipped softly at the lobe of his ear, his fingers easily working the buttons of his shirt open as he rumbled, “Wait until you feel them on your cock.”