by Ryan Hill
“Worrying isn’t going to help anything,” I said. “And besides, Ozzie will be with you.”
Ozzie woofed. He knew what was up.
Jurgen scoffed. “I don’t even trust it to catch a mouse.”
Ozzie didn’t need to growl. I took enough offense at Jurgen’s statement for the both of us. I clapped my hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t worry about my Hell Hound,” I said. “I don’t want your dark side to come out yet, so focus on happy thoughts, okay? Keep things nice and easy.”
Jurgen nodded and went silent. His eyes wandered, probably because he started thinking about piano music. Whatever floated his boat. If he started to turn I could snap his neck again, but that would also put me back at square one. The whole reason Jurgen was even with me was because I didn’t want to go at the Magister Caelo and his stupid Mop Tops by myself—provided the foot soldiers were out tonight collecting souls, so I could find them in the first place.
It was a big assumption on my part to even think they would be, but what choice did I have? If I had to find every Mop Top and beat Sam’s location out of them, I’d do it with a smile on my face. Even better if the Caelo knew where the Magister was hiding. If the Magister and Sam were in the same place, well … yahtzee.
The three of us were a couple blocks away from the spot where Sam and I had run into the Mop Top that imploded itself—which was near where Duffy had been taken. Maybe this part of downtown was sort of a hangout spot for the Caelo? It made sense. Foot traffic wasn’t too high late at night, which kept wandering eyes to a minimum. With the city falling into a panic over the missing kids, it made sense for the Mop Tops to play it safe and stick to an area they knew. And though I didn’t know how the souls played into this Paradise the Caelo wanted, they’d need a steady supply of them. After the mess at Remy’s, coupled with the trouble Sam and I were causing, it made sense for them to stick to a known hunting ground.
Hopefully, it’s where we’d find one of the Caelo and force them to give up the location of tonight’s big to-do, where I figured Sam and Duffy were also being held. Even Ozzie seemed to know what Jurgen and I were up to. The pooch looked up to me, tail wagging.
“It’s time,” I said. “Go on.”
The Hell Hound took off, racing down the street past a group of people so drunk, all they could do was giggle at the sight of Ozzie going full speed. Jurgen sighed and shook his head.
“You better know what you’re doing.”
“I do.” Kind of. But I wasn’t going to tell Jurgen that.
I walked into the alley to my right, stopping at the corner of an Indian restaurant that was covered in darkness. I checked to make sure nobody was around, then leapt on the restaurant’s roof.
I heard Ozzie barking in the next alley, so I made my way to the edge of the roof and looked down. A garbage bin sat directly below, giving me a whiff of old food and sticky beer. Just then, Jurgen entered the alley from below, muttering some German words in between calling out for Ozzie. I peeked down Fayetteville Street. It didn’t seem like anyone was following us, but I couldn’t be too careful. We wanted to get the jump on a Mop Top, not the other way around. The Hell Hound was more than happy to continue toying with the pianist, darting away whenever Jurgen got too close. From my vantage point, it was like one of those cartoons where a cat chases a mouse, and as the episode continues and the cat gets more desperate, things become more and more ridiculous.
Jurgen huffed, angry. I had him walking around alleys in the middle of the night. I didn’t blame him, but he only needed to hold on a little longer. This plan had to work.
Catching a Mop Top was the only way of finding the party, and more importantly, Sam. If I couldn’t find her… I dismissed the idea. That fake angel wasn’t going to martyr herself. Not on my watch. Not ever.
Below me, Ozzie suddenly stopped running circles around Jurgen and focused on the alley’s Fayetteville Street entrance. A shadow of a person ambled around the corner. The mystery person wore a black jacket and had pulled a hood over their head. Jurgen picked up Ozzie, his eyes darting up to me. Those eyes screamed at me, indicating I could jump in ANY DAY NOW.
That didn’t mean I would, at least not at that moment. Part of me wanted to make Jurgen sweat a little. I loved that crazy look on his face—and wanted to savor it a little longer.
The hooded man stepped into some light, then, revealing a thick, heavy build. He moved closer to Jurgen, who stepped back. Ozzie kept his eyes on the stranger, but didn’t bark. Anything that spooked the Mop Top could ruin the plan. I moved closer to the hooded man, taking care to stay out of sight and move as quietly as a ninja, exaggerating my steps like I was tiptoeing around a room full of mousetraps. If I set one of them off, the rest would go into a frenzy of clacks that’d give away my position.
“Evening,” Jurgen said, stuttering.
I peeked down into the alley. I’d made it behind the person in the hood, who kept advancing on a retreating Jurgen. I knew the pianist wanted this over with, like yesterday, but I had to be sure. Now, if only the person would take off their stupid hood and reveal themselves.
Finally, the man did indeed take the hood off, revealing a poorly placed wig. The fake hair stood up from the hood’s static electricity, but gravity slowly pulled it down, resulting in a rather silly case of bed head.
Found one.
Jurgen sprang into action, pretending to be afraid and frantically speaking in German. I couldn’t quite make out what the musician said, but it was probably along the lines of Stay back, you dirty Frankfurter! I have fingers and I am NOT afraid to jam them up your nose!
I leapt from the roof, hoping to tackle the Mop Top—but that would mean he needed to stop moving away from me. And as I was flying through the air, I realized there was a good chance he wouldn’t. No, I was definitely going to miss him. I reached for his hood, grabbing hold of it before landing hard on the concrete, and managed to pull him backwards. He tripped over my head, falling on my back with a hollow thump and knocking the wind out of me.
Ouch.
I gasped for air as the Mop Top struggled to get to his feet, stomping all over my body in the process. Ozzie unleashed a hailstorm of barks, clawing at Jurgen until he set the pooch free. The Mop Top bent forward, ready to suck the Hell Hound into oblivion, but I wasn’t having that. I crawled toward the guy, my claws scraping against the pavement as they extended, then shredded his Achilles’ tendon. Blood poured through the wound on my fingers. The man screamed and collapsed, the hole on his head closing up.
Ozzie immediately pounced on the Mop Top. Every place the man tried to defend, the Hell Hound was right there, biting away at human flesh. I took a few slow, deep breaths to catch my bearings, then lunged at the Mop Top myself, putting him in a headlock. He flailed about, trying to get free, but I was too strong.
“Calm down,” I said. “Or I’ll snap your neck. Do anything stupid, like try to suck us into your black hole, and I’ll snap your neck. Lie to us, and my Hell Hound here–”
“Snaps my neck?” the man asked.
“Don’t be an idiot,” I said. “He can’t do that. But he can use your nuts as a chew toy.”
Ozzie bared his teeth and licked his lips.
“What’s up with your dog?” the man asked.
“Nothing.” I flexed my arm muscles, adding pressure to the guy’s throat. “Are you going to behave?”
“Okay, okay.” The man clutched his shredded Achilles. “God, that hurts.”
Jurgen stood over us, hands on his sides. He’d made it without transforming.
“Tell us,” he said. “Where is your master?”
“I … I don’t know,” the man said. “Honest.”
I glanced at Ozzie. “Lick him.”
The Hell Hound rushed over and started trying to run his tongue all over the Mop Top’s wounded Achilles Heel. The guy responded by trying to kick Ozzie. The dog avoided the flailing feet with ease, though, and I tightened my arm around the guy’s neck
, turning his face a dark shade of red.
“Don’t kick my dog,” I said. “I get that you’ve let yourself become some bottom-feeding monster in the hopes of admission to an imaginary Paradise, but that doesn’t mean you have to abuse animals.”
The Mop Top tried to speak, but with me crushing his windpipe and all, the words came out in a jumbled mess of spit and phlegm. Naturally, that goo got all over my arm.
Jurgen kicked at an empty food wrapper on the ground, his shoulders moving up and down like a turbulent sea. “Have you ever heard of a Spanish Donkey?”
“You’re going there?” I asked. “Now?’
Unreal. We’d gone from Ozzie licking the Mop Top’s wound to one of the worst torture techniques in the history of the world. Taking a bath in acid arguably took the top spot, and getting burned at the stake was up there, but the Spanish Donkey merited consideration for sheer sadism. Not even I had done that to anyone.
“Well?” Jurgen said. “Do you know what a Spanish Donkey is? Yes or no?”
“As your attorney, I advise you to answer the man.” I leaned in close to the man’s ear. “You can shake your head or make a sound to answer.”
The Mop Top shook his head. Sweat wicked off his brow onto my face. And into my mouth. Sickening. I spit off to the side, then eased up on the pressure around the man’s neck. More oxygen surged into his body, which welcomed the easier breathing like a willing virgin.
“When I knew him, your Magister Caelo loved submitting me to the Spanish Donkey,” Jurgen said. “He loved testing the limits of my … will to live.”
Well, now it made perfect sense that Jurgen had a Mr. Hyde-esque monster locked away inside of him. Some people, when subjected to enough stress, created another personality to handle the pain of a particular situation, because psychologically they couldn’t take it anymore. That’s what happened to Jurgen—except he went all the way and created an entirely new physical being. I could only imagine the horror of enduring the Spanish Donkey night after night; though, the end result was impressive. Jurgen could will himself into the Hulk!
“Over and over,” he continued. “For years, the Magister’s goons forced me to sit on the Spanish Donkey.”
The Mop Top listened to the story, relaxing a little under my grip. I braced myself, because once the man heard the punch line, he’d twist and jerk like ten thousand volts were shooting into his body.
“In layman’s terms, this is what the donkey looks like.” Jurgen knelt and made a steeple shape with his hands. “The tip is only moderately sharp. Sometimes, even rusty. Because once you sit down on top of it, they want the donkey to take its time splitting you in half.”
The Mop Top’s body went into a jolt even stronger than I’d expected. I had to clamp down as hard as I could to keep him from escaping. Considering he only had one life to live, the thought of going out on a Spanish Donkey must’ve put the fear of You-Know-Who into him. Couldn’t say I blamed him.
“I’m so glad I’m not you right now,” I said.
Ozzie barked, quite happy that he was a dog and not the guy.
“It’s up to you,” Jurgen said. “You can tell us where the Magister is, or we can find out just how high-pitched your screams can get.”
I let up on my grip enough to allow the Mop Top a chance to speak. His breathing was hoarse and erratic, and I didn’t blame him. The Spanish Donkey wouldn’t kill me, but if I was threatened with it, I’d talk before the inquisitor could get a chance to even imagine splitting me in half. I mean … the Donkey splits a man’s junk in half first, THEN THE REST OF YOU. Yikes.
“Here’s what I know,” the Mop Top said. “I was at some mansion for this big, special party. The kind of party you’d find in New York, or some high society place like that.”
Jurgen smirked. “Continue.”
“It was out in the boonies. Real remote. That’s where I was … converted.”
“Would the Magister be there right now?” I asked.
“Probably.”
“Then take us,” Jurgen said.
“I can’t,” the guy said. “I don’t remember specifics. I was blazed out of my mind.”
“Would it be on your phone?” I asked.
“Probably. It’s in my pocket.”
Jurgen reached into the guy’s back pocket, grabbed the phone, and used it to tap the Mop Top in the ear. “What’s the code?”
“110491.”
Jurgen typed the code in, then searched the phone. Finally, he looked up, a satisfied grin breaking out across his lips. “Got the address.”
I nudged the guy with my leg. “I’m going to let you go. If you do anything besides act like a perfect gentleman, I’m going to let my friend here sit you on top of that Spanish Donkey. Capiche?”
“Don’t have to ask me twice.”
I let the guy go. He rolled off me, coughing as his lungs struggled to inhale as much air as possible. He cleared his throat and spit out some phlegm, then got to his feet. Jurgen patted his back, making him uncomfortable.
“I’m only trying to help,” the pianist said.
The Mop Top held up his hands. “I’m good.”
“Random question, but are you a teacher?” I asked, getting to my feet and brushing the gunk of the alley off my clothes.
“Third grade,” the guy said.
I should’ve known. Of course—a lot of the Mop Tops were probably teachers. Who else had easier access to a bunch of kids? This whole Caelo in Terra business was vile. The bunch of asses.
“Now, this will be on the test,” I said. “Your Sunday morning wig club buddies keep talking about a Paradise the Magister is creating. Any idea when the deed will be done?”
“Soon,” the guy said.
“Define soon,” I said. “A month? A week?”
“Within a few days. Maybe even tonight. That’s as much as I know.”
Maybe tonight? I’d have been okay with a few days. That would’ve given me time to come up with a grand plan to get Sam back and destroy the Caelo in one fell swoop. Like in the first two Godfather films, only with a rescue added for good measure. And, if I’d tipped off Gabriel to my plans, I’d have put down good money that Heaven would let me get away with it—unlike the time they intervened with the bad weather that derailed the Spanish Armada. A disaster that I’d never recovered from.
But if the Magister was creating Paradise tonight, that didn’t leave time for such theatrics.
“Know anything about the Caelo taking an angel?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I’ve been hunting all night.”
Jurgen dangled the phone in front of me and I nodded. I knew we needed to get a move on, and the Mop Top probably didn’t have anything else of use to tell us.
“I think I hear the bell ringing,” I said. “Class is over.”
The guy lowered his head, sighing like the stress and strain had sapped him of his energy.
“What do you want to do with him?” Jurgen asked. “Kill him?”
Ozzie growled. He may achieve full Hell Hound status sooner than I’d hoped.
“Hey, whoa, let’s not do that,” the guy said.
Silly human. He shouldn’t have jumped at the first opportunity to plead for his life. Any ground he could stand on from a negotiating point went right down the drain as soon as he did that. If he was smart, he’d have acted like death was no big deal. Jurgen and I would’ve bargained with a man who had nothing to lose. Who knew? He might’ve gotten away with a light spanking, a broken hand, or a shattered kneecap, depending on his diplomacy skills. Not now.
I hmmed. “What’ll you give us? Think fast, we have to go mess up your friends.”
“Anything you want.” Sweat made his forehead glisten. “Anything.”
“I mean, you’re nothing to us. We don’t even know your–”
“Steve.”
“Bless it all.”
Stupid, Bart!
I had to regroup and avoid Jurgen’s condescending glare. We both knew I’d scr
ewed up. I didn’t need to feel it through his icy German glare.
“I never met a Steve I liked. Not one.” I congratulated myself on a nice rebound. Inside, I meant. It would’ve been weird if I’d said, “Nice save!” out loud.
“Besides,” Jurgen said. “If we let you go you’ll continue as you were, taking the lives of more innocent children.”
“It’s the Magister’s bidding,” Steve said. “He needs us to give him sacrifices for Paradise.”
Well that was new. “So, this is all for the glory of the Magister?” I asked.
“Yes.” Steve lowered his hands. “Everything the Caelo in Terra do is for the Magister. The more souls we collect, the closer the Magister comes to fulfilling his destiny.”
“How many souls does he need?” I asked.
“Not even the Magister knows,” Steve said.
I figured as much. Not even I knew how many souls it took to screw in a light bulb, or in this case build a new world.
“Once Paradise is created, will you all keep stealing souls?” Jurgen asked.
“Or will the Caelo just leave well enough alone?” I asked. “Because if you could all just fuck off, that’d be great for everyone, I think.”
“No.” Steve broke into an odd, misshapen smile. “Everyone will bask in the glory of Paradise on Earth. All will bec–”
“Wait,” I said. “Do you know where exactly on Earth the Magister plans to make this Paradise? Is it here? A field in the middle of nowhere?”
“It’s here. Raleigh is ground zero for the Magister’s Paradise.”
I burst into laughter, leaning against one of the walls to keep my balance. Once I realized my clothes were touching a wall in an alley, though, I moved away and forced myself to keep my own balance.
“What a fool.” I struggled to speak though my giggle fit. “There is no way this polluted, over-populated wreck of a world will ever be a paradise.”
“The Virgin Islands are really nice,” Jurgen said.
“I mean Paradise in the Biblical sense. With a capital P.”
“Ah.” Jurgen lowered his head, ashamed at the error. As well he should’ve been.
“He’ll do it,” Steve spoke as if this speech was pre-programmed. “The unseen and unheard God that holds sway over the masses has forsaken his children.”
