At the Behest of the Dead

by Long, Timothy W.

  “Just kidding. I make potions and find killers. I’m good at reading violent deaths.”

  “Heavy, dude.”

  “Indeed,” I said and wished I had a pair of headphones to jam in my ears.

  “Have you worked on any big serial killer cases?”

  “Ever heard of the Green River killer?” I raised my eyebrows.

  “Yeah, man. That guy’s an asshole.”

  I chuckled at that one.

  “I worked that case a few years before they caught the killer.”

  “Not too good, huh?”

  I shut up before I uttered a spell that would lift him off the ground and toss him around like a rag doll. I had the glyphs for it and I was much recovered from my exploits reaching the cusp.

  “Found it,” Doc West said. He had a small black bag in one hand and a scalpel in the other.

  “I hope you aren’t planning to implant something in me,” I said with genuine trepidation.

  “Nah. I found my favorite blade while I was in the back room.” He brandished the gleaming knife.

  I let out a breath.

  “Where did you get such a piece?” I asked as I studied the device he’d handed me. It was a heavy pentacle shape with a large red ruby in the center. It rotated like the arm of a watch, but counterclockwise. There were no markings that I could see, and when I filtered a wisp of power into it the device threw it back in my face. I’d heard of these but never seen one up close.

  “Came in on a corpse a couple of decades ago. I don’t know who the guy was but I tucked that away for a rainy day. Don’t lose it!”

  I dropped the amulet in my jean pocket.

  Doc followed me to the door and leaned close.

  “Son, you get in trouble, you come back here. You’re not the best necromancer, but you are one of us, and that counts. If you need help remember your home.”

  “You’re all heart, Doc.”

  I gave the old man a hug and made for the sky on my fork.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Once upon a time there was a little bar called South of Heaven where a guy could get a drink, meet a girl, and probably end up in a duel. It was an old school warlock hangout until something called progress caught up with it. Ramshackle and ill kempt, the joint had grown over the years from something resembling a tiny one-room tavern, to a much larger and proper dive. Over the last twenty years, a land developer stepped in and tried to buy the place. He was killed and tossed across the cusp, but the owner got the message. It was time to change.

  So the casino was born and so was the logo “You can’t take it with! Blow it here!”

  South of Heaven was the last stop on the way to the cusp. The proper entrance to hell was on this side but no one was really sure where it lay. I’m sure one of the arch demons could point it out, Belial, Azrael or even the big bad wolf himself, but to mere mortals the location was a mystery. A cabal of warlocks once tried to drill a hole to the other side by combining their power with a huge diamond tipped industrial drill. The seven were sucked to the other side, their wards and glyphs smashed aside like J-ello pops.

  Idiots.

  It had become a grand joke for the suicidal or drunk. Or both.

  “Where ya heading?”

  “The cusp.”

  The casino wasn’t my real stop, but I had to go through the place to reach my goal.

  Glamoured to the gills, hexes resplendent on my body, robe, and hood, I walked in with long purposeful strides.

  The entrance was a gaping maw shaped like a demon’s mouth. Neon teeth hung over the doorway. I was greeted by a pair of men with giant arms crossed over chests big enough to stop a rhino. The pair wore black and didn’t bother to conceal dual pieces under their arms. Their guns looked like polycarbonate, which gave the appearance of Glocks, but I had no doubt they were seriously enhanced to stop anything that might threaten the safety of the paying customers.

  The stairs weren’t so peachy. Furrows were worn in the red plush, and at least one stain that was probably blood.

  The apes nodded at me but didn’t look all that intimidated. I thought everyone ducked and scrapped when inquisitors hit the scene.

  “Where you goin’, cus?” one of the guys asked. His voice sounded like gravel in a rotating drum.

  “In here to bet my life savings. Now, get out of the way. Inquisitor business.”

  “Got da badge?” the other asked. He had one foot cocked behind his other leg, the heel resting against the wall. His shirt rippled open around a few poor buttons, revealing mahogany wood etched with more glyphs than I had ever seen in one place. This guy was a tank.

  I made a show of fishing around in my deep inner pockets. Checked one side, then the other. Then I produced the piece Doc West had given me, said a silent prayer to whatever gods might have their attention turned in my direction, and held it up. The ruby in the center continued its rotation round and round, like a really fast second hand.

  The first brute stared at it long and hard then nodded once.

  “Sure, inquisitor. Sorry for the bother.” He gestured with one tree trunk of an arm.

  I didn’t say anything else. Just raised my hood and entered South of Heaven. As I walked through the door, I had the urge to spin around because I felt both sets of eyes burrowing into the back of my head. After a few strides I gave in and looked over my shoulder. One of them was speaking into his palm, probably into one of those devices TV secret agents have in their shirt cuffs. Calling ahead for little ole me? Cool.

  But how was it that an inquisitor, the more or less epitome of badassery, was treated like a common street urchin at the entrance to the casino? What did these guys know? A real inquisitor didn’t answer questions. In fact they pretty much didn’t answer to anyone. Where they went, rulers shook in their Birkenstocks.

  The doors slid closed like a whisper.

  If it had been bright through the closed doors, it was an inferno on the inside.

  I strode through the main area and headed for the bar in the back. The casino proper wasn’t as large as a casino you would find in the mortal world, and the games weren’t quite the same.

  There were games of chance a plenty. The regulars were here, like roulette, but it was a version that relied on symbols, not numbers and colors. There was a salamander on the rim, and if it got ornery it would jump into the bowl and snatch out the marble as it spun round and round, voiding the game in progress.

  A couple played blackjack for blood. I paused to watch as one of them, the apparent loser of the round, held out their wrist for the dealer to prick with a very sharp dagger. If anyone got carried away, their bodies were always welcome at the necropolis.

  A game of cards was in full swing, but the crowd was pretty nasty. A guy in a duster had a serious piece of hardware over his shoulder. Probably a bounty hunter headed to the cusp to try and bring back something before it could enter. The others at the table looked fae to me, so I kept the hells away from them. Bad enough being born a warlock. Get one of those fairy bastards talking and before you knew it they had misplaced two or three months of your time.

  The slots were packed. The sound was immense as bells and coins clinked. Boos, hisses, cheers, and jeers drifted from that section of the room. It was populated with a rabble of folks, most human, some not so much.

  I moved past slots and the hair on the back of my neck rustled as if a cool breeze had caressed it. I turned and found a drink server eyeing me as well as one of the card dealers. He was also talking into his sleeve.

  Were they hiding something? Some torture-porn room in the back?

  I kept going, trying to ignore the attention.

  I strode in the dimly lit bar. This was the original South of Heaven, a hovel really, but they made their own whiskey that was quite popular. It was also good for getting spilled paint out of just about anything.

  “Can I get you something, inquisitor?” the bartender asked. She was at least half demon and had an impish smile. Her teeth were the whites
t of white, two large ones rose from her lower jaw and curved over her lips like tusks. This gave her a slight lisp. Her lips were full and lighter than her skin color. I wondered how in the hell you made out with someone like that.

  She wore a tiny white top that was unbuttoned almost to her navel. To compliment the shirt, such that it was, she sported a plaid schoolgirl skirt that flipped up and down in the back, thanks to her tail. This revealed a set of blood red fishnet stockings. Her legs looked perfectly human. Heavy on the perfect part.

  “Where’s Mike?”

  “His day off. So, inquisitor, is it true that you guys are enhanced? I find regular guys aren’t really up to my standards. I could use a challenge, if you know what I mean.” Her finger drew a line between her full scaly breasts.

  “Demon, I have no use for your kind. Do you see the color of my robe?” I put as much conviction into my voice as I could. The truth was that she was etched with enough glamour glyphs to make the Pope take notice.

  “Such a temper. Oh no, Mr. Inquisitor. Don’t tie me to a bed and make me answer your questions.” She purred and crossed her wrists on the bar and offered a terrific pout.

  “Er, can I leave a message?”

  “Have a drink, inquisitor. It’s a specialty.” She tossed in a mint leaf and ground it up with ice. A couple of doses of liquor went in. “I’ll tell you all about Mike.”

  She set the drink in front of me with a smile. Then she pulled up a seat right across from me and leaned over so I got a flawless view down her shirt.

  I took a sip and let the drink burn a hole in my throat. I gasped for breath and then did it again. The drink was sweet, but it was also about eighty proof.

  “Do you always give out free drinks?”

  “Nah. Just for guys that strike my fancy.”

  “What’s with the scales?”

  “These old things?” She ran her hands down her chest and over her short top.

  “Er. Yeah.”

  “Daddy was a demon. Back in the seventies these kids used to be into devil worship. So one day Daddy got summoned by a band, and after he devoured them he knocked up the singer’s girlfriend. She was a real beauty queen, but Mom died young.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  “Thanks, Phineas. You’re a real sweetheart.”

  “How did you know my name?”

  “We told her. That’s how.” The muscle from the front of the building had entered the noisy bar while I was distracted by the demon in red.

  “Can I buy you guys a drink?”

  “Nah. I think you had enough for all of us.” The clown that was twice my size said, but the words were strange, slowed down and hollow.

  I stumbled away and fumbled for wormwood. The piece came out, but before I could smear it with blood the bruiser came at me.

  I picked up a barstool and threw it as I took a few steps backward. A word accelerated the seat into the tank’s face, where it promptly exploded. This only made Mr. Grumpy look even more pissed.

  I tried to babble my demon’s name but barely got the first part out. I’d jammed the end of the wood into my finger until I drew blood. The sting was worth it as I smeared it up and down my new weapon.

  A glyph formed as I stumbled and nearly went down. I was backed into a wall, so I concentrated on the form and it leapt into view.

  I sent the sizzling weapon homing in on the big one. It stuck and set him on fire. The other one patted his pal down until he was out.

  I didn’t have squat for weapons and took another shot at the demon’s name, then something heavy smashed into the back of my head and I felt like I was falling over the cusp.

  **

  I woke to nothing good. Voices, but they were far away.

  “This one?” She sounded familiar, but not in a way I was about to write home to mom about.

  “That’s him. Excellent work.”

  My head ached like someone had taken three or four ballpeen hammers and used my skull to practice bongo drums. I wanted to roll over, but a lassitude held me in thrall. I might as well have been tied to a flatbed truck and driven off a cliff for all I cared. The pounding didn’t let up, and after a while I realized it was my heart trying to beat out of my chest. I wanted to get up, see the world, talk about life, but I couldn’t even open one eye.

  A voice spoke, but it was in the background and the words were too hard to make out. They had a droning cadence--like Morse code--that thumped at my already throbbing head.

  Open eyes! I ordered, but they didn’t obey, bastards. Too bad I didn’t have a spell that could force my body to do my own bidding, which was usually reserved for simple things like nerve impulses. I tried to open my mouth, and even that didn’t respond.

  I was left with one other sense, that of smell, and I wished to hell it didn’t work because the scents swirling around me meant one thing.

  Demons.

  Brimstone burns. Imagine you have a jalapeno and you pop it in half. Now scrape out the insides and jam them up your nose. Inhale. If you survive this, you will have an inkling as to what brimstone smells like. When you think of brimstone I’m sure one thing goes through your mind, and that is the other element that’s normally found in close proximity. Fire.

  Brimstone is just code for sulfur, at least up above. But it was also the bedrock that the cusp was supposedly made of, so that could only mean one thing. I had made the one-way trip.

  I wanted to howl in fury then scream in fear.

  My left eye finally obeyed and became a slit, but I snapped it shut because all I got for my effort was the rest of the chili pepper, in my eye.

  “Gah!” I managed. No one made a witty comeback so that meant I was probably alone. Great, I would be able to recover, maybe with a few push-ups, a couple of woven together spells, or through constructing enough glyphs to get me out of my this predicament.

  If my head didn’t hurt so much, I would have laughed out loud at the thought.

  I got both eyes open after what seemed an eternity. After another endless round of constant eye blinks, I managed to keep them open for a few seconds. Just long enough to take in pillars. Huge ones, reaching to a ceiling that was so high it faded into mist. Black and red pentagrams and giant glyphs covered the walls. I choked back a gasp of wonder before sinking back to the blessed confines of sleep. My last thought as I drifted away was that my captor’s had lovely taste.

  I couldn’t wait to kill them.

  **

  I woke again and my situation hadn’t improved very much. At least my head was no longer pounding. Now it was an ache that started at my forehead and wrapped around to my neck. My eyes opened and were burned again, thanks to the sulfuric gas that made up what appeared to be the air in the room. My lungs woke up next with a tremendous round of coughing that would have doubled me over, had I been standing. I was instead secured, on my back, and unable to move any limbs.

  The view of a massive cathedral with a domed ceiling was clear and judging by the scale of the room, I was an ant in a valley.

  I tried to make sense of some of the glyphs that danced up columns of obsidian, but they didn’t resonate with me in the slightest. Some were so twisted and cruel I wondered at the insane mind that had come up with them.

  The last thing I remembered was asking for Mike before being assaulted by a pair of apes at South of Heaven. I wondered which one had hit me. When I got back I wanted to take my time with him.

  I didn’t have much, so self-bravado would have to do.

  Something shuffled across the ground somewhere near the direction of my feet. It was big, and when it moved so did the ground under me. I tried to look but all I saw was my chest. I moved my head to the side, finding only a black and slick floor.

  Fire rolled over an open section just a hundred feet from my location, sending chunks of black rock tumbling down. Flares answered the obsidian and made me wish for a fire hose attached to an ocean.

  If I wasn’t already sure of it, I now knew that I was indeed beyond t
he cusp and possibly in the first ward, and that meant that I was a dead man.

  My arms were secured across my chest and my legs were equally immobile. I tried to move my feet and at least they flexed at the ankles. I still had on my dark robe and it did, in fact, look worse for wear. I wiggled around to test my bonds, but I also wanted to check on the contents of my hidden pockets. I was disappointed to learn that there didn’t seem to be anything there.

  “Look who is awake,” an all too familiar voice said. It echoed around the large chamber, and though it was distorted by the acoustics I recognized the inflection.

  “You’re not real.” I managed to gasp between parched lips. My tongue felt like a dry sponge. I had been on benders that didn’t leave me this parched the next day.

  “Real enough. My theatrics were very entertaining. Tell me differently,” said Balkir.

  “Your theatrics sucked. How are the hand wringing lessons going?”

  A blow across my gut made me regret my words. Fire leapt across my mid-section and then continued to burn until I felt like someone was cutting into my stomach to view its contents. I gasped then let out a half-howl that was really pathetic considering how dry my mouth was.

  “Care for some water?”

  “Yes,” I replied, much more contrite.

  Something warm trickled from above. It hit my mouth and had, surprise, a sulfuric flavor. Could have been warm piss for all I cared. My mouth dropped open and my parched tongue met what might have been the best drink of my entire life.

  “Let me tell you a story.”

  “I hate stories,” I said before I could think about it, so I got another lash across the gut. This one crisscrossed the first and left me howling in agony.

  “It’s an excellent story.”

  I learned my lesson that time, although every fiber of my being wanted to whip out some of my self serving bravado and tell Balkir to go screw himself.

  “Two warlocks of equal skill were once left in charge of the guild. They were friends but had much different callings. The two got on wonderfully at the beginning, as is true of any friendship that goes bad. Have you ever lost a friend?”