At The Gates ds-3

by Tim Marquitz

  He faced Grawwl, his blade set before him. “You might want to watch your back,” he said over his shoulder, his voice thready.

  Remembering the vamp, I drew my backup pistol and spun to see my dance partner sprinting toward me. I decided to lead this time and unloaded what was left in the clip into his sour puss. He screeched and howled as he dropped. His hands went to his face in a frantic attempt to tear the bullets out.

  Not interested in him getting up again, I reloaded and held the barrel over his throat. In a sweeping motion from right to left, I fired fast, each bullet shredding a section of his neck. His screams turned to gurgles as the bullets tore through his vocal cords. Bubbling blackness squirted from the wounds as though I’d struck oil. His face went rigid as spasms shuddered across his body.

  With little more than tattered remnants of meat holding him in one piece, I pulled back my foot and soccer-kicked his head from his shoulders. It gave way with a wet ripping sound and flew up into the air, splattering my boot and the street with a warm, dark rain. I fought the urge to yell, “ Goooooooooooooooaaaaaaaallllllll,” as his head split the frame of a nearby doorway.

  I turned back around just in time to see Scarlett drift toward me. The last vampire twitched on the asphalt behind her, his body diced neatly into a couple dozen dripping parts even Dali would have found disturbing.

  Much to my surprise, all I saw of Grawwl was his furry ass as he hightailed it out of sight. I added a bullet to speed him along. Can’t say I was sorry to see him go.

  Grateful for the rescue, I looked to the old man. “You got a name?”

  He shook his head and gestured the way the werebear went. “No time. The vampires and shifters know what’s going on in the Kingdom.”

  Scarlett gasped, her eyes going wide. “But-”

  The old man waved a grizzled hand to cut her off. “They and the Nephilim seek a key to turn the tide against Heaven. It must not be them who find it.” He gave a curt nod and raced off after Grawwl.

  After he was gone, I looked to Scarlett. I imagine I had the same dumbfounded look on my face.

  “Today just keeps getting better and better.” My adrenaline fading, the gashes in my back started to throb. A sudden chill prickled my skin as the pain settled in.

  “Should we follow?” Scarlett asked.

  “No.” I waggled my finger. “Let grandpa deal with Grawwl. If the lycanthropes and vampires have set aside their differences to go against Heaven, we’re neck deep in some serious shit. We’re gonna need all the help we can get.”

  Scarlett’s green eyes met mine, a glimmer of resignation welling up. “Baalth?”

  “Baalth.”

  Chapter Five

  “You have got to be fucking kidding me!”

  “I’m sorry, Mister Trigg,” Poe answered, his voice like silk. “Baalth is unavailable.”

  “What do you mean, unavailable?”

  “That would be the opposite of available.”

  I just stared at him, imagining choking some color into his expressionless face.

  A mentalist of impressive power, Alexander Poe was Baalth’s right-hand man and confidante. I’d grown to respect the man’s integrity and courage, and could even say I liked him on occasion, depending on how many drinks I had in me, but the dark stare and rigid detachment grated on my nerves. He was one cold fish, but his loyalty to Baalth was unquestionable. If the big guy told him to stonewall me, I wasn’t gonna get a damn thing out of him.

  His dim-witted tank of a partner, on the other hand…

  Marcus D’anatello sat at the back of the room, his eyes on the floor, his bald head a rosy pink. The last time I’d seen the hulking bruiser, I’d saved his life. Of course I beat him halfway to death while doing it, but that’s beside the point.

  He fidgeted in his chair, his knuckles a bright white as he clenched his fists in his lap. He obviously didn’t want anything to do with me.

  Too bad. That only egged me on. “Where’s he at, Marcus?”

  “Unavailable, Mister Trigg.” Poe stepped between us, his words fierce but still composed. “Time for you to leave.” He gestured to the door where Scarlett stood, her arms overlapped in front of her chest.

  Meeting Poe’s steely gaze, I saw his eyelid twitch subtly. He was brushing me off. There was more going on than he was telling me. I looked past him to the weakest link. “Tell me where he is.”

  Marcus shook his head, the muscles in his jaw clenched in a visible knot. Poe told me to leave again, but I ignored him.

  “Don’t make me come over there, Marcus. Tell me.”

  “We don’t fucking know, all right?” Marcus screamed as he jumped to his feet. He looked ready to explode, his face a deep shade of red.

  Poe snarled and Marcus dropped back into his seat with a graveled huff. Poe glared at me with open hostility, and I realized what Marcus said was true; they had no idea where Baalth was.

  “He just up and disappeared?”

  Poe stood there without answering, the vein at his temple throbbing as though he were sending a message in Morse code. I stayed quiet as well, meeting his withering gaze. At last, he sighed and his eyes dropped away as though letting go of a burden that had been too heavy to bear. He ran his hand through his thinning gray hair and gave a shallow nod.

  “When?”

  “About a week, now.” He went around the desk and sunk into Baalth’s chair. He stared down at his hands. “He’d sent us on an errand and when we returned, he and Veronica were gone. He left no word as to where he was going or when he’d be back. He gave no operating directives.” Poe met my eyes once more, his calm expression returning. “Outside of Mister D’anatello and I, only you two know he is gone.”

  The warning was clear. Baalth’s presence was a major factor in minimizing the supernatural hijinks in the area since God and Lucifer sauntered off for parts unknown. Only the bravest, or dumbest, stirred up trouble anywhere near the demon’s territory. If word got out he was missing, all Hell would break loose-literally.

  “He picked a great time to go on walkabout. You hear about Heaven?”

  Poe nodded. “Our network is still in place, so our information lines remain constant. Though without Baalth, our resources to respond are limited.”

  “What about The Gray?” I hated the redneck, Santa Claus lookalike, but there was no denying he had the power to go toe-to-toe with angels. He’d done it before. We could use him.

  “Unfortunately, Mister McConnell has yet to recover from our adventure in Limbo. Were he to summon his magic, it would kill him.”

  Torn between laughing at The Gray’s misfortune and sighing at ours, I chose the latter. The already short list of help was getting shorter by the minute, and we were running out of time. I could be a vindictive ass later. “You know anything about the weird storm that hit the city?”

  Poe shook his head. “None of our sources have seen anything like it before, nor do they have any idea what might have caused it.” He leaned back, rubbing at his chin. “No, that’s not entirely truthful. There is one who might know something, though he would never deign to tell me. Perhaps he might be more willing to speak to you.”

  “Who?”

  “Asmoday.”

  Scarlett hissed and pushed past me, nearly knocking me over. The wounds on my back burned as her elbow dug into them. I clenched my teeth to keep from screaming.

  “Where is he? I’ll cut the answers from his entrails, I’ll-”

  Poe raised a warning hand. “He is under Baalth’s protection.”

  While that might have deterred me, Scarlett was 100 percent Old Testament when it came to revenge; an eye for an eye. Actually, she was probably closer to 130 percent. She’d go for a limb too, while she was at it.

  Worse still, when it came to Asmoday, she was harboring some serious hate. Not too long ago, the Archangel Gabriel had captured her and handed her over to the demon lieutenant. Chained with manacles that inhibited her power, she was helpless until I came along and freed her.
She was probably madder about that last part than anything.

  Given the opportunity, she’d take a piece of Asmoday home with her; one of the warm and juicy ones. It’d be dangling over her fireplace by nightfall.

  “Where is he?”

  Shaking his head, Poe looked to me. “Not with her here. Baalth will have our heads if any harm comes to Asmoday.”

  She drew her sword and leaned over the desk, setting the tip at Poe’s narrow throat. “Tell me or I’ll have your head right here and now!”

  Marcus jumped to his feet with a growl. “Put the sword away, bitch!” He aimed his gun at Scarlett. It was one of my old ones, stolen from me a while back, and it was loaded with DA slayers. Things were spiraling out of control fast.

  As unnatural as it was to be the voice of reason, I had to step in.

  “I know how you feel, Scarlett, but this isn’t helping. Poe would die rather than betray his master, and I would bet my balls that Marcus has no idea how to reach Asmoday.” A confirming smile flashed across Poe’s lips as Scarlett glared, her sword arm steady. “Your people need your help. Would you condemn them for the sake of petty revenge?”

  She stood rigid, the point of her blade drawing a dot of blood from Poe’s throat.

  “Damn you.” At last she relented, a quiet sob slipping from her. She covered her mouth and stumbled back into the wall, sheathing her sword with a clack. Tears welled from her eyes as she crumbled into a ball on the floor, hugging her knees.

  Relief colored Poe’s face and he sunk deeper into the chair, his hand massaging his throat. He waved Marcus away with the other. Sweat trickling down his face, the bruiser holstered his gun and stormed out of the room without so much as looking back. So far, that was the best thing to happen all day.

  “I’ll take you to him, but she stays here,” Poe said, one eyebrow raised, waiting for an answer.

  I glanced at Scarlett, her body trembling as she rocked back and forth. The guilt card played without mercy, I couldn’t help but feel bad for her.

  A sensitive soul, Scarlett suffered the slings and arrows of life far deeper than most. She couldn’t imagine hurting those she loved and I’d laid it out for her in graphic detail, setting the full weight of blame for what might happen on her shoulders; the image was too much for her to bear. I watched her for a moment longer, her body trembling in time with her tears, then nodded to Poe.

  “Fair enough.” I turned to Scarlett. “Stay put. I’ll find out what we need to know and be right back.” She didn’t bother to look at me. “We’ll save Heaven, I promise.” The words sounded hollow, but they seemed to work. She glanced up at me, her reddened eyes daring to hope. I had to look away.

  A plastic smile covered my lips until I’d followed Poe out of the room and down a short hall, where it cracked and fell away. We wound our way through a minor maze of rooms and doors until we hit the basement. Inside, the gentle glimmer of power hung in the air. A small, simple pentagram was etched inside a circle on the concrete floor, its lines drawn in gold. Poe gestured to it.

  “Hop in, Mister Trigg. I’ll direct the gate.”

  The need for expediency outweighing trust, I stepped into the circle without question and held my breath. In what was a telling moment, Poe closed his eyes and I sensed the subtle waves of energy that emanated from him, triggering the gate.

  As the dimensional vortex whisked me away, I stared at Poe until he faded from sight, my mind whirling. He’d never shown any inclination toward magic before. Though operating a portal isn’t exactly high-end craft, it took a solid measure of mystical competency that couldn’t be mastered overnight. Poe had done it without a hitch.

  My arrival cleared that revelation from my head. A brimstone tang met my nose, giving away my destination as clearly as any sign could. I was in Hell.

  Far from the prison cell quaintness I’d expected, the room I appeared in was cavernous. I recognized it immediately as a part of my uncle’s private chambers, a section squirreled away in the deepest recesses of his old quarters. A quick glance to my left made it clear the area had been sealed off from the rest of the rooms. Where once a massive archway had led out to a series of uninhabited rooms, there was now a seamless wall of stone. There’d be no Shawshank Redemption with that hunk of rock.

  Amused that Baalth had chosen to imprison Asmoday in Lucifer’s old dominion, I took a look around at what’d been done to the place. Comfortable furniture littered the open space, the walls buttressed with overflowing bookshelves. Works of great art, clearly stolen from the world above, hung in a rigid array along the walls. Their bright colors threatened to overwhelm the dull tones of the rest of the room.

  “Has the prodigal son come home at last?” a smooth, quiet voice asked from behind me, interrupting my sightseeing.

  I spun to see Asmoday leaning in an arched doorway, a glass of wine dangling at his fingertips. Always lean, he looked damn near anorexic, like a piece of wood chiseled to its bare essence. His jet black hair and beard were unkempt and greasy, brown specks floating in them. A connoisseur of fine suits, it surprised me to see him dressed in flowing black robes that had seen better days. Dark stains marred the bulk of them, and the sleeves were tattered and frayed at their ends. Powder gray dust was visible on the loose threads. The mangy sandals he wore on his feet were speckled in what looked like dried mud, his feet nearly brown.

  The iron stare that had long inspired fear amongst the Angelic Choir flitted dull and fidgety; his brown eyes little more than murky puddles in sallow sockets. His presence, which had once wafted from him, thick with steel and arrogance, was the wispy breath of a barren grave. His power was gone.

  My mind jumped on the last part, my eyes glancing to his wrists and dirty ankles. Seeing no manacles, my stomach twisted into a knot. If ever I needed some kind of benchmark to comprehend just how powerful Baalth had become after inheriting Glorius’s magic, Asmoday was it.

  As one of the first Fallen, a top lieutenant to Lucifer himself, Asmoday was power incarnate. In the top ten of supernatural entities, he was a god amongst men; was being the operative word.

  Without any artificial assistance, Baalth had shut him down as easily as flipping off a switch. That reality settled over me like tsunami.

  “Hardly.” I fought to keep the satisfaction from my voice.

  He didn’t seem to care as he strolled to a velvet couch and plopped down, waving me to a seat across from it. He stared at the stone floor. “Then to what do I owe the great pleasure of your esteemed company?” He knew why I was there. Even banished to Hell, robbed of his magic, Asmoday was a demon lieutenant; there wasn’t a war he didn’t know about. Each and every battle was a song that rang clear through his blood.

  I sat, my wounds reminding me they were still there, and took a second to collect my thoughts. Having lost everything he valued, Asmoday wasn’t gonna be swayed by a sob story, so I played to his ego. “I need your help.”

  Though he sat a little straighter, taking another sip of his wine, he didn’t lift his gaze. “I have none to offer.”

  “Actually, you’re the only one who does.”

  His eyes peeked up at me from under drowsy lids. “Why not ask Baalth? Surely he can assist you.”

  “Baalth has his own agenda, and I have mine. They rarely coincide conveniently to my benefit.”

  Asmoday straightened, his wine glass hovering at his lips as he stared at me. “So Baalth doesn’t know you’re here, Triggaltheron?”

  I shook my head, cringing at the use of my given name, but I let it go.

  He sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Then I can expect nothing for my assistance.”

  Settling back into my seat, I tried not to smile. While he might have seemed uninterested, I knew the game well. We’d reached the bargaining stage. “I can certainly speak with Baalth to see what I can manage…” He shifted on the couch and looked to his glass. I waited a moment, letting the line trail out a little. “Though I believe I have a more…accommodating solution.”
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br />   He glanced up, his brown eyes curious at last.

  “While Baalth may hold all the cards at the moment, fate has a habit of reshuffling the deck.” I leaned forward as though confessing. “As I’m sure you’ve heard, Longinus is back among the living.”

  Asmoday gave a curt nod as though it were old news, motioning for me to continue.

  “What you may not know, is that I helped get him there. He owes me.”

  Expressionless, Asmoday waited for me to sweeten the pitch.

  I did my best, though I couldn’t help but twist the knife a little. “Though Gabriel seems to have turned his back on his former allies, I have no doubt Duke Forcalor, and his newfound friends, would be more than willing to reward your loyalty to the right cause.”

  He drained his glass and sat silent. I knew what he was thinking so I headed it off. “Away on business, Baalth would, no doubt, be appreciative of someone looking out for his interests, especially if things in Heaven are as bad as they seem. It’s only a matter of time before the war spills over and affects the rest of the realms.” Though I shouldn’t have told Asmoday that Baalth was gone, he probably already knew. Besides, he wasn’t in a position to take advantage of the info. While it might come back to bite me in the ass later, I could worry about it then, if I was still alive to care.

  He laughed, a hint of life finally coloring his voice. “It already has.”

  “The storm?”

  He nodded, accepting our arrangement by default. His powers bound to Baalth, there could be no contract between us. He had only my word. With no other offers on the table, it was apparently enough.

  Asmoday stood and went to refill his glass. “Lucifer once told me a story.” His wine replenished, he sipped at it and returned to his seat. “After a fierce argument with God, he stormed through the Garden of Eden, on his way to Earth. As he neared the Tree of Life, he noticed small black dots spring up and speckle the trunk. As he moved closer, the dots grew, the blackness spreading.