Demorn: City of Innocents (The Asanti Series Book 2)

by David Finn

  Duke Pain put his palm against the golden mirror and the lift exploded into static nothingness, white void folding in upon itself, warping out to some weird oblivion in front of her.

  Tears ran in her eyes. Her head hurt. She was deep in the clubhouse. Nothing felt real. Her memories were a mess. She was outside one of the oldest doors to her bedroom, the unicorn icon flashing upon it.

  She was thirsty. Demorn walked through her bedroom door, so many feelings floating inside.

  End Interlude

  Part 2

  1

  * * *

  It had finally stopped raining in the lush green park outside her bedroom window. Maybe a whole day had passed. Time was elastic inside the Cavern.

  By her bed, the astral circle spluttered out, five candles instantly extinguishing. A young woman lay naked upon her bed, still sleeping.

  Demorn looked out over the park.

  She saw the graceful green willow trees hanging over the lake, a small group of Innocent girls sitting and talking in the grass. From her sound-proof, air-chilled room Demorn felt distant from them.

  She felt shy and exposed after touching the minds of so many Innocents in the Cavern.

  Without really wanting to, Demorn blinked and her magic green eyes cut through the electronic veil outside.

  Gigantic spiraling towers of glass and concrete reared far above the high white wall. Her mind drifted, images flickering between the dazzling, kinetic horizon of future tech and a different place . . . clean rows of pyramid temples in a empty desert, beneath a sheer empty sky.

  She turned back to her room. It was almost the same, except for huge skeletons hanging upside down from the ceiling, white and cold, sending a terrible chill down her spine.

  Sympaths glided silently into the room, gathering the sleeping girl in their arms. She admired their graceful, perfect faces, the way they moved in synch. She was entranced by the pink lightning bolts upon their tight black jackets.

  The girl was like a doll, small and fragile in their arms.

  ‘Take good care of her. She won’t remember anything.’

  The Sympaths turned. They weren’t clones, they were independent people, but there was a dazzling similarity and closeness which she loved. Their eyes were azure and lovely. Demorn understood what her brother saw in them. They often spent time together.

  One spoke with a soft accent. ‘She will be fine. You were hurt more deeply, Princess. You gave so much of yourself and have been away so long.’

  The Sympath’s hand gracefully brushed across Demorn, gently caressing her face. Everything felt charged and poignant.

  The girl had a glittering substance on her fingers. She carefully brushed the shimmering powder across Demorn’s cheek, making her smile and almost cry, surprised by the tenderness.

  ‘You give so much and have been away so long . . .’

  Demorn blinked, the voice echoing through her mind. The Sympath girls were gone. She wasn’t sure how long she had been standing there.

  The dusk sun was warm and soft through the giant glass bay window. She saw herself in the reflection. The powder had formed a glistening purple lighting bolt, sizzling with power.

  She slipped out of her shirt. The Sword sigil burnt vividly on her chest, a shifting flame. Demorn self-consciously brushed her finger across the blue ink.

  For years it had been fading, as Xalos spawned less and less. But no more. Not since she returned to Firethorn.

  Demorn took the Skull Ring from her combat pants and placed it on her bed counter. Such a small, silly thing, to save her life for so long.

  She took off her invisible watch and placed it on the counter, too. She didn’t want to be called, she didn’t want a new mission yet.

  As it came off her wrist, the metallic watch was revealed, the blue back-screen scratched after years on the road and in The Grave.

  On impulse, she took the pain locket from around her neck, feeling a weight immediately leave her spirit, and a strange weakness flood her limbs.

  She didn’t trust herself to keep the locket off, with the Pain Goddess howling for her warrior.

  Demorn moved quickly to find a freshly pressed blue silk shirt, threw her black leather jacket on and quickly left the room.

  She realised it was years since she had walked down the white carpeted corridors and socialised with the girls and guys. Distant music echoed from below. The Club levels ran deep, layer upon layer beneath the penthouse apartments that Demorn resided in.

  Demorn was embarrassed to note her heart beat a little faster as she walked. She slipped her opaque purple glasses on, heading to one of the exclusive VIP zones.

  Two hard-bodied blond guys passed Demorn in the corridor, back from a gym session, their cool glances sizing her up as her palm-print opened the door. She wondered if they knew who she was because she had no idea who they were.

  Inside, a layer of virtual wide-screens played an assortment of sports and death matches. The skyline view was filtered out with purple screens. Everyone had Wi-Fi earbuds or audio implants. The air crackled with card deck games.

  She could see a couple of guys draped over couches betting old school on baseball and tennis.

  Some things never changed, she thought, collapsing into her favourite white chair, turning her implant open all the way. She started synching with the channels, her eyes buzzing behind the glasses. It all felt brilliant after so long in The Grave.

  She could barely feel or taste the cherry cola the hostess pressed into her hand. She drained it in a single gulp and handed it back to the gorgeous woman, or it might have been a man. It didn’t matter, she knew that.

  She could feel the blur of Tyrant advertisements, a non-stop political propaganda channel screaming in flashing icons beneath the death matches that left her utterly cold.

  Demorn couldn’t stand politics. The Tyrant Run felt like a nightmarish cartoon version of her real life and worst fears.

  ‘And not in the good way,’ she said to nobody, smiling her scary smile.

  Her mind sank into the layers of neon and smoke. Somewhere beneath everything lay the howling backbeat of lost classics and shiny new songs Demorn didn’t know but that somehow knew her — inside and out, all the scars and glittering seas in her heart and soul.

  As her brain attuned to the frequency, Demorn could feel the ghosts and memories of a thousand imprinted minds, echoes of other Innocents.

  Her boots touched solid ground. The wide, light room had become a neon laser den. Blue and purple smoke cast a haze over the starless vacant sky. The ghosts of a dead band sang around her. The more she looked at them, the more she saw people she knew. She saw the Beatles in 1967, dressed in psychedelic shirts, the energy fire reflecting off John Lennon’s glasses. She could see other Innocents, many emblazoned with sun symbols, some naked, some beautiful, burning purple to red to blue.

  A massive fire lit up the centre of everything.

  Cowled figures huddled around the energy, and glowing beings that seemed no longer human floated through and above the flames.

  Demorn was wearing her soul mask. She could feel the glittering death images flooding across it. Her Athena pistol lay in her hand.

  She wasn’t wearing anything underneath her black jacket. The blue star burnt vividly above her breasts. Demorn wandered from the fire, following instincts. She saw a small group clustered by a smaller fire.

  A smart, sharp looking woman dressed in a sharp black suit looked up as Demorn approached. She was playing an old school card game with a young man in a swirling rainbow suit. His hands moved faster, building decks with a rhythm she couldn’t believe. She watched with a raised eyebrow.

  ‘You’re playing raw. It’s very dangerous to play that way.’

  The woman laughed, shaking her hand.

  ‘I’m Jackie Z. And that’s why he plays that way. Aren’t you going to gawk at the Beatles, ask them to play your favourite song off Sgt Pepper?’

  Demorn laughed, looking at the giant fi
re. ‘I prefer studio versions,’ she said with a smile. She was filled with a wistful emotion and her eyes glowed through the mask at the shimmering crowd around her, so colourful and fanciful in their faux ’60’s fashion, their Peace badges, their Flower Power. They seemed so different to her, so naive and unspoilt when compared with the darkness in her soul.

  The Grave has left a mark on me, Demorn thought. I won’t ever be the same. I won’t ever feel so pure. I won’t be able to believe John Lennon could really save the world. Not the whole world, it’s too big and fucked up for anyone, too big for Peace badges.

  ‘Still with us, kid?’

  Demorn knew that she was crying underneath the mask. The tears felt hot and sticky and like pieces of her heart. She said, ‘Yeah. I wonder what they talk about. I hope it’s not stuff like bass guitars. That would be boring. I hope it’s girls and peace and weirdly innocent stories about the 1960s. I wonder what their houses were like. Did they have secret, better technology than us?’

  Jackie cracked her fingers. ‘Well, it’s not exactly the actual Beatles. It’s ghosts of their souls. Almost like photographs. They can be blurry up close. It’s not always a beautiful dream. I once saw a whole bunch of dead kids throwing their records into the fire. Screaming about Jesus. Quite a scene.’

  Demorn sat down. She pulled a rack of black cards from her jacket and starting constructing a deck. This was just playtime, no money at stake, but immediately her cards caught the current of the table.

  ‘What do you do around here, Jackie?’

  Jackie Z blew on her nails. ‘I’m an accountant, I work in the office. With the Skull Witch gone, and her brother MIA, somebody has to make sure the books are balanced.’ Her smile was an array of perfect white teeth. Demorn was amused as she realised Jackie was talking about herself and Smile.

  ‘So this is work?’

  ‘I like to come down here, see what the thieves and killers wear in their dreams.’

  Jackie cast a critical eye on some muscled hunks walking nearby, wearing almost nothing but loincloths, a couple of bikini-clad girls walking alongside them.

  It’s like sexual confidence had children, Demorn thought.

  ‘So many lions and lionesses. So much pride.’ Jackie fluttered perfect eyelashes at Demorn as she spoke. Everything about her was sharp and faintly poisonous. ‘If such is your taste. Hey, it beats the Friday Night betting pool.’

  ‘I’m sure it does,’ Demorn said, letting a small black dragon escape from her deck and roll onto the game table. She watched the silent boy counter-move, fingers flicking at great speed.

  Demorn asked, ‘But what if a kid gets sick of this whole collection of proud little pussycats, and wants to shop off the menu? Maybe they want to see what lies outside the castle gates . . .’

  Jackie’s perfect smile was a sneer. Her lipstick was such a deep red it was almost black. She sipped at her wine, keeping half an eye on the game.

  ‘I’m no kid, I’m an employee. I have a condo in LA. I fly in to do this job, fly back once a month. I take my two months off in Hawaii. I prefer to go solo.’ Jackie waved her hand dismissively. The black ring glinted. ‘Outside the Club, Babelzon is the wild west. It’s somewhere we buy a lot of these cowboys.’

  Demorn laughed. She liked this woman. Smile must have hired her.

  ‘Do you kill, Jackie?’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘A girl who knows the rules. Only an Innocent gets in the Club. Only a top level one gets down here, in this room. But every Innocent kills. Every Innocent has done hits for money.’

  Jackie gave her a cold smile that held just a trace of humanity, a hint of something sadder.

  ‘Of course I can kill, darling. I can kill well. It got me through college. But I prefer doing the Club books and taking my vacation in Hawaii, solo.’

  Jackie took a long glance at the game, and withdrew her cards with a flick of her fingers, a moment before the Rainbow consumed her hand. ‘And you never answered my question. Who are you?’

  Demorn laughed softly, her insane death mask shifting.

  ‘Oh, you can guess, Jackie. You’re a smart girl who is paid well. You don’t want things for free.’

  Demorn looked back at the fire. It was much sparser now, most of the crowd had gone away. The girls in their bikinis and the muscled guys in their loincloths had vanished. The place felt colder and deeper.

  Demorn saw a sudden rare opening in Rainbow’s game. She executed a stunning reversal, taking out his Honky Tonk Queen, just before she flowered, as players called that transcendent move when she formed in-game. It wasn’t outright victory but she had won a significant battle.

  ‘Where are you?’ she asked the boy.

  He looked up from his tattered rainbow robes. His face was artless and plastic. Not a shred of personality. No spark. Nobody at home. Her magic eyes flared and she caught nothing.

  ‘He’s not fully real, is he?’

  Jackie Z gulped some wine. ‘We’re deep in some shared collective unconscious. They say some weird gem in the Skull Witch’s office powers all these levels. So what’s real?’

  Demorn reached over, placing her hand gently on his shoulder. His reflective robe collapsed and the boy vanished into nothing.

  ‘People misunderstand what reality is.’

  Jackie Z sighed. ‘How deep. Thanks for ruining the game.’

  ‘His game had turned to shadow play. He’d left the building.’

  Jackie Z shrugged, untroubled. ‘He can still fuck me at the table. I don’t know who he is upside and I don’t care. Probably just some dreaming data analyst. That’s what most of these people are. Most of the Innocent super-agents aren’t smart enough to appear fully formed.’

  ‘But you are, of course.’

  Jackie’s chuckle was a tickle. She crossed her legs tightly. Her sheer black stockings rode up perfect legs, tasteful black and silver heels flashing.

  ‘I look exactly the same as I do in my office. I know it’s more than a dream. They say the Skull Bitch was the same.’ Jackie blew on her fingernails. ‘But who believes the celebrity news?’

  Demorn laughed richly. ‘You don’t like her much, do you?’

  ‘Not true. Never met her, and all her cheques clear. What’s not to like? Legend says she went to a distant dimension of the undead to be with her dead girlfriend.’ Jackie sniffed. ‘Which sounds positively awful.’

  Demorn said, ‘I hope she’s OK.’

  Jackie shrugged. ‘I’m sure she’ll be just fine. The Witch was the biggest killer of this whole lot. There’s a fan club, and bootleg videos dredged from satellites. You can watch her shoot up a city filled with skeletons. There’s even a cult that swears she never left and that she’s still doing missions here, just doesn’t like to leave her room in the daytime.’

  Jackie got up, brushing her dress down. Her finger glinted with the pristine black diamond ring. ‘And with that, I really must go and get some sleep.’

  Demorn got up, catching Jackie’s hand in a smooth handshake. ‘Lovely to meet you, Jackie.’

  She took a business card from her jacket and gave it to Jackie, who appraised it with a cool interest, automatically flicking her own back.

  Jackie smiled, her face pitch-perfect and expressionless. ‘Lovely meeting you too, Ms President. If we could organise a meeting tomorrow, I can give you a whole new box. This one still says VP.’

  Demorn smiled her scary smile, the death mask grotesque, but her heart was laughing.

  ‘Thanks, Jackie. It was a busy time before I “went to a distant dimension of the undead to be with my dead girlfriend.” I’m sure you understand.’

  Jackie’s expression was one of attentive boredom. ‘Of course. Is ten good for you?’

  ‘Ten is perfect. Do you see my brother?’

  ‘Every now and then. He hired me.’

  ‘How is he?’

  Jackie sighed. ‘Honestly? A bit lost. We can cover this more formally tomorrow. It’s more of a mental absence.
There’s a lot of cults to believe in around here. But he’s a lovely boy.’

  Demorn laughed. ‘Well, Smile has been through a lot. You can me call me Demorn, y’know.’

  ‘Thank you, Ms President, that’s very kind.’

  Demorn gestured to the tattered robes. ‘What’s the attraction to Rainbow Nation?’

  Jackie looked archly at the table and the vacant game board. She flicked a dark polished fingernail at his robe, now just dim colours.

  ‘I’m not completely without professional interest in him. He’s an echo of code. Linked to an old file, a red flag. It reactivated a month ago, led me down here to the dreamers.’

  Demorn tensed. A red flag file.

  ‘Which one?’

  Jackie looked at her with cool eyes. ‘Do you remember Gareth?’

  Things slowed for a moment, almost a rewind. A freezing day, Suicide Sue, the Music Arcade. Bits of a past she vaguely knew, looping in her brain.

  Demorn focused her mind and broke the loop, the association spluttering into nothingness.

  ‘Yeah. I call him Dead Gareth.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He’s gone.’

  Jackie blinked. ‘There’s a thread.’

  ‘Tell me now!’

  Demorn’s raw bark came as surprise to herself. She smoothed her voice. ‘I’ve been gone a long time. I’d rather just know.’

  Jackie opened her small black purse.

  ‘It’s not much. Rainbow played in patterns. Tuneless rhythms, humming underneath all the other garbage they play here. Repetitive, but highly cryptic. If I ever won a hand, the game shifted. I’ve played thousands of hands against him, won just over thirty, all minor league stuff. Boring though it was, I recorded the key changes. A couple of nights ago I cracked it.’

  Jackie opened her small purse. She had a piece of paper with the words CALL THE REPEATER MALL printed on it, again and again.

  Demorn’s heart froze.

  ‘That’s all the code says. I punched it into the system. Up came Gareth and his file.’ She looked at Demorn with blank politeness. ‘Quite the read.’

  So you know everything, Jackie Z, Demorn thought with a frightening coldness. ‘I know, I wrote it. Who have you told?’