Ashburn_A [Sub] Urban Fantasy Novel

by Michael W. Layne

  Abby crossed his arms and raised his bony eyebrows.

  “He likes to play tricks, so it’s like an educational video for him,” Sybil said, jotting down what the imp wanted on her smart phone. “What do you require in return for this treasure, John?”

  I contemplated asking Abby to find out what he could about Marie, but I couldn’t afford to wait until next week for that information.

  With a shrug, I decided to punt and to start making the job my own.

  “Consider this one on me,” I said.

  Sybil elbowed me hard, but Abby let his arms fall to his side, happy but stunned.

  “Is this a trick?” he said as others behind him stirred, having overheard my promise of free stuff.

  “All orders are free next week,” I said louder as I took the tiny box from Sybil and handed it to the imp. “But only this once. This is a special deal for existing customers only.”

  It wasn’t much, but giving away a bunch of odds and ends in exchange for a little blood didn’t seem like such a bad deal to me, and I thought it might earn me some trust with the supernatural community instead of only their abject fear and hatred. Rose was right about me having to be Ahriman’s enforcer, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t do things my own way.

  With a wide smile, Abby skipped out of the store, clutching his tiny package to his chest. The next demon stepped up, and the ritual began again.

  One at a time, they made their way to the front of the line. Each asked for their package, Sybil found it and handed it to me, and I took their order for the next week.

  Several of the boxes were filled with internal organs and other body parts—which I assumed were seen as fine dining by some of my customers and quite hard to come by, since eating humans in Ashburn was forbidden. Every once in a while, I saw something really unexpected, like a jar of thimbles or a stuffed animal. I didn’t bother asking about any of it.

  While I was waiting for one of the larger demons to pick up his package, I glanced at Sybil through the lenses of my goggles. There she was in her full demonic form, but this time, I saw more beauty than horror. Her skin was a dark red that bordered on black, but her body was athletic, shapely, and feminine. Behind all of that, her eyes, although red like most of Ashburn’s demons, had a depth that hinted at hidden substance behind them.

  I had to stop myself from staring at her because the next customer stepped up, demanding my attention.

  “Do I have to do this every week?” I asked.

  “This is how you keep your fingers on the pulse of the town,” Sybil said. “You get them what they can’t find on their own or through the Internet, and they give you information and secrets—and other things you want. This is how you learn things, although next week you won’t be learning anything because you’re giving away everything—for free.”

  As the afternoon wore on, some of the demons didn’t have what John had asked for, but to their credit, they didn’t try to bullshit me. Instead, they handed over ancient coins or other baubles infused with different types of supernatural energy or magic and begged me to accept them. I took whatever they offered, once again trying to improve John’s reputation.

  When I looked up, expecting the next demon in line, a bright white light directly in front of me stabbed into my eyes like hot needles of pain.

  I ripped my goggles from my head and blinked. It was my old friend, Chaz, the guitar maker.

  “I have procured the information you sought,” he said, his demeanor restrained and respectful.

  Images of his broken guitar flashed through my mind.

  “Whatever I wanted to know last week, I don’t want to know it anymore,” I said. “You can have your stuff for free this week and next week, too.”

  “That is very kind of you,” he said with a grin. “But I will pay for my package on this day. I have more important plans for what you owe me.”

  “You don’t understand,” I said. “I’ll still be in your debt. I’ll still owe you for the guitar. But in return—when you get a chance…I was wondering if you could maybe make another one just for me?”

  He paused for a moment, thinking.

  “What happened to the instrument I gave you?” he said, his lips sagging into a frown. “I made that ax with my own hands. It carried a piece of my soul.”

  “It was the perfect guitar,” I said. “It was so perfect that it saved my life. Although it did receive a little damage in the process…”

  In an instant, his face changed from upset to skeptical and then to angry.

  “And how did it save your life?”

  I grimaced as I remembered smashing his guitar to pieces on Miguel’s head.

  “Some very dangerous people—professional assassins probably—jumped me outside the pub. I had nothing else to use as a weapon.”

  “So it is only broken,” he said, exhaling loudly. “I am certain I can repair it. I am very good at fixing things.”

  I shook my head and gave him a tight-lipped smile.

  “There’s not really that much left of it to fix,” I said. “But it really saved my butt—”

  “You already said that.”

  “I feel horrible about destroying such a piece of art,” I said. “I’ve played a lot of great guitars in my lifetime, but nothing came close to yours.”

  “That is kind of you to say,” Chaz responded as he calmed down. “And I am—glad it helped protect you.”

  I placed my hand on his shoulder, and he tensed at my touch.

  “So, what do you say?” I asked. “I promise to take better care of the next one. Please.”

  “And—” he said.

  “And if you make me a new guitar, your packages will be free for the next year.”

  “And—” he said again.

  “And, I’ll still owe you the original favor.”

  He pretended to think for a few moments before answering.

  “I will begin forging your new instrument tonight. But such an artifact is not created in one evening. The work will be done when it is done. I will bring it to you when I am finished.”

  I nodded and handed his box to him, which he opened to check. I caught a quick glimpse of a thick plastic bag filled with something pink and fleshy.

  “Pig entrails,” he said with a smile. “Exactly what I was looking for.”

  “Glad you like them,” I said, even though I had no idea why he wanted them. Maybe they were a delicacy in his home country.

  “What information did you have for me?” I asked.

  Chaz handed me a small envelope made from animal skin.

  “This piece of information took me longer to find than expected. I was almost discovered several times, which would have meant horrible pain and suffering for me. I want you to know how hard I worked for you.”

  I thanked him again, and he walked away, cradling his package of pig guts.

  “What the hell is he?” I said. “Some ancient god of music or maybe the arts?”

  “At one time in history, he was the premier Sumerian god of pig farmers,” she said with a laugh. “But it turns out there aren’t many pig farms in Ashburn, so he opened a music shop to keep himself occupied. He’s still an industrious deity, and he uses pig guts for his strings. The word is that he talks to them, and they agree to never break or go out of tune. The angels even buy their harp strings from him.”

  I looked at her and stifled a laugh.

  “Angels really play harps?”

  “In every myth, there’s an ounce of truth,” she said, shrugging. “They like playing harps. It reminds them of home.”

  I was ready to tear open the envelope from Chaz and see what had been so hard to find. But something felt wrong, and the store had gone quiet except for the sound of Shadow’s panting. When I looked up, I saw a single creature, standing alone with a hoodie pulled up over his head.

  When he revealed his face, a faint white glow emanated from it. I recognized his smooth, too-perfect countenance and white hair at once.

&n
bsp; “Nice to see you again, Raz,” I said, lying. “Are you here as a customer or to tell me about more dead humans?”

  The angel glided toward me, doing his best to stare me down.

  “My name is Raziel, not Raz, and you know why I’m here.”

  “I thought you didn’t like dealing with my kind,” I said as I crossed my arms in front of my chest, enjoying myself for the first time that day.

  “I believe you have a package for me—” he said in a quiet but dangerous voice.

  “You don’t have to whisper,” I said. “You’re the only one here.”

  I looked behind me and saw there were only two boxes left. Both were small and had the word FRAGILE stamped on them.

  “Which one is it?” I said.

  He pointed to the smaller of the two, which I picked up and held in front of me.

  He reached for it, but I pulled it away, and Shadow growled, warning him to stay where he was. Raziel struggled to stay still as I opened his care package in front of him. I didn’t care what was in the box, and I wasn’t interested in his personal business, but I was enjoying the hell out of making him uncomfortable.

  Inside the box, encased in molded Styrofoam, was a small glass globe filled with something white and fluffy that swirled like a captured cloud.

  Its lightness stood in stark contrast to the rest of the packages I’d given out that morning. I handed it to him, and he took it without saying a word.

  “What is that?” I said.

  Still silent, he tucked the container under his arm like he was afraid it would spontaneously shatter.

  “You know very well what this is,” he said. “It’s a human soul—something you will never truly possess.”

  “He collects and keeps them like pets,” Sybil said. “Pretty twisted, if you ask me.”

  “No one is asking you, hellion,” Raziel said with a curled lip. “And this is not just any soul. This is a pure soul.”

  “Whatever gets you off is your business,” she said, and Raziel’s face turned even redder.

  “A pure human soul does not get me off. Being trapped in this place has stolen so much from me, but being cut off from the purity of souls on their way to Heaven is unbearable. One day, when I leave, I will take the ones under my care into the heavens with me, and I will set them free to be with the Divine One.”

  I wanted to say a lot of things, but I remained quiet. If Raz wanted to collect souls, that was his choice, but I agreed with Sybil that keeping human spirits from moving on so he could collect them like action figures was pretty damn twisted. It was also something he probably didn’t want his fellow angels to know about.

  “Where’s my payment?” I said.

  He reached out and placed half of an ancient gold coin in the palm of my hand. It was tough to make out the image on the front side of the coin, but it looked like half of an eye with sun lines radiating out from it. On the other side of the coin was half of a simple, stylized heart.

  I looked over at Sybil. She shrugged, but she also cleared her throat and fidgeted.

  “Half a coin seems a pretty cheap price for a soul,” I said.

  “This is what I found where you told me to look. Now it is in your hands, and I consider our transaction complete.”

  I stood in silence, looking at the partial coin in my hand. I didn’t know what John had been looking for or where he’d told Raziel to look, but I didn’t want to ask too many questions or he’d know something was different about his friendly neighborhood, demonic enforcer.

  “Do you have an order for next week?” I said as I pocketed the half-coin. “Maybe a kitten?”

  “I will contact you if I am ever in need of your services again,” he said before pulling up his hoodie and storming out the front door.

  With the angel’s business concluded, the place was empty at last, except for Sybil, Shadow, and me. But there was still one package sitting on the floor.

  “Is anyone ever this late on delivery day?” I asked Sybil.

  “Never.”

  I picked up the last box and opened it carefully. Inside was a porcelain figurine of a little girl holding an umbrella. I turned it over and saw the word Hummel written on the bottom.

  It wasn’t what I was expecting to find. I shrugged and closed the box, thinking it might belong to one of the angels who’d been too shy or embarrassed to pick it up in person.

  “Any of the regulars not show up today?”

  “Only one,” Sybil said with a frown. “A man named Blair.”

  “What’s so bad about Blair?” I asked. “Other than his name.”

  “It’s not him. It’s his job. He works for Oizys. Picking up her packages is only one of his many responsibilities as her assistant.”

  “Poor slob,” I said as I placed the figurine back in its box and picked up the envelope from Chaz. I broke its seal and removed a single sheet of handmade paper.

  “What does it say?” Sybil asked.

  Confused, I stared at the name that was hand-written on the paper.

  I handed it to Sybil who read the name out loud.

  “Rose,” she said.

  “Any idea what this is about?” I said.

  “John didn’t tell me why he asked for half the things he did,” she said, shaking her head. “But he never did anything without a reason.”

  Chapter 25

  I SET THE PACKAGE for Oizys in the car seat with Shadow and headed for Marie’s. As I waited in line with the rest of the Beamers, Audis, and Mercedes at a stoplight, I wondered about the piece of paper with Rose’s name on it. I considered asking Chaz for more information, but if I did, he’d figure out I wasn’t the real John in a heartbeat.

  When I pulled up to the curb in front of Marie’s house, her zombie gardeners were still on the clock, pretending to care for her yard as always.

  I stepped out of the car, and the clouds darkened overhead, blocking out the sun. Before making my way to the front door, I scanned the yard using my goggles, and things looked a lot different from the way they had before.

  The workers showed up as human—no magical energy around them at all—nothing. But their skin was gray, and they looked like what they really were—animated corpses without their ti bon anges, their souls.

  The charms and the other objects hanging from the trees glowed with shimmering purple and black magic and were connected with lines of black energy that formed a magical net around the house. Some of the black lines crossed the path leading up to Marie’s front door—trip wires to protect her from unwanted visitors. I must have broken them the first time I’d visited her even though I’d been allowed to pass through without incident.

  I took a deep breath and walked through the lines of invisible energy, hoping I’d make it through the house’s defenses again.

  The gardener with the dark ebony skin turned to look at me, the same way he had the last time, with lifeless white eyes and a face without expression. Just as before, he didn’t try to stop me before turning back to his work.

  Standing in front of Marie’s front door, I wondered why the police hadn’t taped it off, but then I realized the authorities wouldn’t be interested in someone just because they’d left Ashburn. Normal people did that all the time.

  I was the only one who cared about that. And Ahriman, of course.

  Even though I didn’t expect Marie to be home, I rang the doorbell and knocked before trying the doorknob.

  It was locked, but with the slightest push, the deadbolt snapped, and the door swung inward.

  I stepped inside, closed the door behind me, then scanned the foyer and the library before moving into the living room. With each step, it felt like someone was watching me. I looked up, but all I saw was the drawing of Marie’s ancestor—the Baron—hanging on the wall above the fireplace mantel. It was a good drawing—so much so that it felt like he was following me with his eyes—a living skeleton keeping track of the living.

  I picked up one of the six soul jars on the mantel and brought
it closer to my face. Inside was a torn piece of clothing, several strands of hair, a couple of teeth, and a small, roughly shaped figure made of black wax. And just like I’d remembered, everything in the jar was covered in a dusting of yellowish-orange powder—the same substance I’d seen inside Laura Henders’ nostrils.

  It was enough proof for me that there was a connection between Laura and Marie, but exactly what that connection was, I could only guess. According to Oizys, Marie had disappeared and left town before Laura’s death. And even if she’d been in Ashburn at the time of the killing, I couldn’t picture Marie murdering Laura.

  I placed the jar back on the shelf and backed away, sobered by the thought that I’d held the soul from one of the gardeners in my hands.

  A part of me wanted to get the hell out of there after seeing the powder, but my gut disagreed, and the pain from Ahriman’s spell convinced me to look around a little more.

  I checked upstairs and stuck my head into her bedroom to make sure she wasn’t there before heading back downstairs to investigate the kitchen.

  Everything was the same, except the giant wooden cutting board—it was stained with blood that hadn’t been there the last time I’d seen it. On the floor, Shadow was sniffing a small white feather, probably left over from one of the chickens unfortunate enough to have been purchased by Marie.

  I picked up the feather and rolled it between two of my fingers. Seeing the remnant from the slaughtered animal reminded me that Marie was capable of doing unpleasant things in the name of her faith. It also triggered an idea about where I could go next.

  Letting the feather drop to the floor, I left her house and did my best to pull the door with the broken lock shut on the way out.

  The clouds were heavier outside than when I’d arrived, and the sun was nowhere to be found as the first drops of rain pelted my face. I dashed to the car as the rain came down in hard sheets. Shadow disappeared in front of me and reappeared in the Audi’s passenger seat, dry and wagging his tail.

  As I slid into the driver’s seat and pulled my tee-shirt up to wipe my damp face, Marie’s gardeners continued their facade of work in the downpour.