“Then why?” Randall asked.
“Why what?”
“Why get mixed up in this stuff? It’s not safe, and it can’t pay much.”
Jo laughed quietly. “Try nothing at all. This is a volunteer position, my friend.”
“So why do it?”
Jo looked at him. “Why are you a cop? I know that ain’t for the money.”
Randall didn’t hesitate for a second. “People need help. I can help. I’m supposed to do that.” He nodded at her. “Okay. I get it.”
“Yep,” she said. “It’s the exact same thing. There are bad people in the world. We have people like you to take care of that. There are bad things in this world, too. Things that might not have started in this world and might not be the kind of things that police can deal with. For those things, for the monsters in the closet, the creatures under the bed, the things that go bump in the night? For those things, you have me. Me and people like me. The Shadow Council. We fight against the dark, so the people we love can live in the light.”
Randall nodded. “I get it. Kinda. I’m still trying to process the whole ‘magic is real’ thing. But I get why you mess with it.”
“Because somebody’s got to,” Jo said. Just then, the light surrounding the circle winked out, and Leon looked up at them.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t reach him. I mean, there’s something blocking him off from the divine part of himself, and I can’t break through it. I’m just not strong enough, or don’t know the right spells, or something. I don’t even know what I don’t know.” The big man heaved himself to one knee, then stood as he spoke. His voice was tight with frustration, his forehead furrowed. “I don’t get it, Joanna. I looked at him for mystical influences, and there was nothing. I dove into his consciousness looking for tampering, and there was nothing. It’s like whatever makes him...I don’t even know how to explain it, but the angel part of him is just missing. I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”
He kicked over one of the candles, and it flickered out, spilling wax on the floor. “Spencer!” he bellowed. “Come on back here and help clean up.” Leon turned back to Jo and handed her the sword. “I could feel the power in this weapon. It wants to come to life. It wants to fight. Maybe that will be enough.”
“It’ll have to be,” Jo said. She took the sword from him and turned to Mitch. “Let’s go. We’ve got less than an hour before we have to meet up with whoever has my baby.”
Mitch stood up, flowing to his feet in an easy motion. Even without the sword burning in his hand, he looked dangerous. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s do this.”
Jo looked at him, her eyebrows raised. “You’re not going to argue with me?”
“They’ve got your kid, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Then we’ll get her back. I was a dick before. I’m sorry. I won’t let a little kid get hurt just because I don’t want to play magic angel or whatever. I’ll help.”
“Me too,” Randall said. “Besides, if I stay here, I have to help put all this crap back where it was.” They all laughed but turned somber as they walked to the door.
Joanna put her hand on the door and turned back to Leon, who was gathering up candles and blowing them out. “Thank you, Doc.”
“You’re welcome,” he said. “And don’t call me Doc,” he said with a smile.
She gave him a little smile back and stepped out into the dark store. “Come on boys, let’s go fight a monster.”
12
Jo stepped out of her Kia and walked around to the back of the car. Randall and Mitch joined her as she lifted the door and pulled out her hammer and a long brown leather duster. She clipped a ring to her belt and threaded the handle through it, then slipped on the heavy coat.
“Are we in a blacksploitation remake of Tombstone, Jo?” Randall asked.
“No, and I’m too short to be Pam Grier,” she replied. “This thing is heavy, hot as hell, and makes me look stupid, but the leather is thick and tough enough to stop a knife or claw, and I wish I’d had it last night when we ran into that thing in the hall.”
She reached in and picked up the sword wrapped in a blue tarp. She held the bundle out to Mitch.
He stepped back, holding up both hands. “I’m not touching that thing, Jo.”
“You’re probably going to have to,” she said. “It might be the only thing that can kill whatever is waiting for us in there.”
Mitch shook his head and held up the shotgun Randall had given him. “Anything I can’t kill with a twelve-gauge is something I shouldn’t be trying to kill in the first place.”
“I’ll take it,” Randall said, holding out his hand.
“Do you know how to use a sword, Randall?” Jo asked.
“I’ve seen Braveheart twice and every Lord of the Rings movie. That oughta count for something, right? Besides, I have my Sig for backup if I can’t remember which end to put in the bad guys.”
Jo shook her head and handed him the sword. He stripped the tarp off the blade and tested the weight, then slashed at the air a few times, getting the feel of the weapon.
“Let’s go,” Jo said. She closed the hatchback and passed a flashlight to Mitch. “I need both hands free,” she said, gesturing with the hammer.
Randall pulled a flashlight from his belt and clicked it on. He led the way, with Jo behind him and Mitch bringing up the rear as they walked across the deserted parking lot. There was only one car on the premises besides Jo’s little Kia, and it was parked on the opposite side of the building, pulled all the way up the sidewalk right to the door. Randall led the trio toward the back of the school, traversing a basketball court and an expansive lawn before coming to a closed double door.
Jo reached out and tried the handle, finding it unlocked. She looked at her companions. “You think they unlocked all the doors, or did they plan on us coming in this way?”
“This is the only door on this side of the building, so they probably parked where they did on purpose, assuming we’d use the door farthest from their car. So yeah, I guess they planned on us coming this way,” Randall said.
“Should we look for another way in?” Jo asked.
“Why bother?” Mitch asked. The others turned to him. “You said these guys have your daughter and your mom, right?”
Jo nodded.
“Then it doesn’t matter where we come in. All they have to do is sit in one place with the hostages, and we’ll go to them. They know where we’ll be, and they know roughly when we’ll be there because you’ve only got about twenty minutes to get there before your midnight deadline now. Makes way more tactical sense for them to just let us in and wait for us.”
“So that’s we do, huh? We just do exactly what they want and go in there?” Randall asked.
“Yep,” Jo said. “We go in there, kick some ass, and walk out with my daughter and my mother. Any questions?”
“Yeah,” Randall said. “What are we waiting for?” He pulled open the door and stepped through, his flashlight cutting a narrow blue-white beam through the darkened hall. Jo followed, with Mitch again bringing up the rear. They walked down the long hallway, then turned right at the first intersection, heading toward the gym.
“He’s probably got Mama and Ginny in one of the locker rooms. Randall, why don’t you go see if you can find them while me and Mitch look for the demon?”
“We should stick together,” Randall said. The others looked at him as if demanding a reason. “Oh come on, haven’t you two ever seen a horror movie? You split up, and the one who goes off by himself dies. Especially if it’s the black dude. Just in case you missed it, this doesn’t rub off.” He held up the back of his hand and rubbed the skin with a finger. His dark brown skin didn’t change.
“So the black dude is not going off by himself in this movie,” Randall said.
“One problem with that whole thing, Randall,” Jo said. “I’m black, too.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re the hero. They won’t kill you f
irst. This isn’t some M. Night Shamalamadingdong movie, just going for the cheap plot twist. This is real life, and I ain’t getting killed tonight.”
“Okay, we stay together. Then we need to go this way,” Jo said, pointing down the hall. The men followed her lead, and they began to see a sliver of light under the double doors at the end of the hall.
“Is that the gym?” Randall asked.
“Yeah,” Mitch said. “Keep an eye out up here. There are two locker rooms. If anybody’s going to jump us, that’s where they’ll be.”
They crossed to the far side of the hall to avoid passing directly in front of the locker room doors, but no one leapt out at them. Moments later, they stood at the entrance to the gym. Jo shifted her hammer to her left hand, reached out with her right, and yanked the door open.
They gym was lit by about a third of the overhead lights, casting deep shadows around the walls but illuminating the empty cage in the center of the basketball court. Jo’s eyes scanned the room until she found her mother and daughter sitting on the one extended section of bleachers. Both Harrison women had their hands tied behind them and silver duct tape over their mouths, but even at a distance, Jo could see a fierce determination in their eyes. They may have been captured, but their spirits were unbowed.
Shelton stepped into the light, his hands clasped in front of him and a broad smile on his face. “Joanna, thank you so much for coming. I am thrilled that you could make our little soiree, and so pleased that you brought guests. I know Mitchell, of course, but who is your little blue friend?”
“Phoenix PD,” Randall announced in a booming voice. “Get on your knees and put your hands on your head.” He holstered his flashlight and drew his pistol, leveling the weapon at Shelton.
“Shel?” Jo said, bewildered. “You’re part of this?”
“Part of this?” Shelton repeated. “Oh sweetie, I’m not part of this at all. I am this. This is all my operation. The whole fight club has been a plan to get my hands on your divine little friend here.” He gestured to Mitch.
Mitch glared at the promoter and pointed the shotgun at him. “I think the officer gave you an order, Shel. I think you should do what he said.”
“I think you should shut up when your betters are speaking, angel,” Shel snapped, waving a hand at the group. A wave of force struck them, carrying away the shotgun and Randall’s pistol. Jo held onto her hammer, drawing a raised eyebrow from Shelton. “Really? That’s interesting.”
Shelton walked forward, his eyes glowing red in the gloom. His appearance began to change as he approached, growing larger, his clothes vanishing as he grew to six, then seven feet tall. Black bat wings extended from his shoulders, and his skin took on a deep crimson tone. A long, spiked tail waved sinuously behind him, and his heavily muscled arms ended in black inch-long claws.
He shook his head, long black braids flowing down his back. “Ah, that’s better. You have no idea how cramped my wings get after being folded up in that stupid human suit. But this is better, isn’t it? No need for subterfuge, no need to hide anything. Just good, old-fashioned, honest murder.”
Jo stepped forward, swinging her hammer in a looping blow. Shel raised an arm and wrapped his hand around the head of the weapon, enclosing it in his huge fist. Smoke billowed from his fingers, and he snatched his hand back. “Ouch! That hurt, Jo. What did you do, have this thing blessed?”
“First thing I did when I got home from Atlanta. I went to church, prayed about what I’d seen, and asked Father Timothy to bless my hammer. He was a little confused, but he did it.”
“Well, that hurt, and that means I’m going to have to kill you, too. I was just going to kill the angel and let you go, but now...well, everybody into the cage!”
“Screw you, demon,” Jo said, raising the hammer again. “I’m not getting into that cage again, especially with you.”
Demon-Shel smiled at her. “Of course you are. Or I’ll kill your family.”
Jo took a menacing step forward, but stopped at the demon’s upraised hand. “You don’t want me to prove it, do you?” he asked. Shel pointed his hand at the opposite bleachers, and his eyes glowed red. Seconds later, a tendril of smoke curled up from behind the bleachers. The fire broke free and climbed the stacked wall of closed wooden seats, engulfing the entire wall in flame. Shel waved his hand, and the fire vanished, leaving soot and cinders behind.
“I don’t have to be near them to kill them, Jo. I just have to want to make it happen. Now get your ass in the cage, or I will cook them from the inside out!” He bellowed the last, and Jo saw the pair of wicked fangs jutting up from his lower jaw.
Jo glared at him. “If I do this, if I fight you, you let them go?”
“You have my word. If you get into the cage and fight me, your mother and daughter will leave this place unharmed. I will even return your grandfather’s hammer to them after I finish gutting you.”
Jo recognized this for the generosity the demon thought it was and nodded. “Fine, I’ll fight. Come on, Mitch.” She started toward the cage, Mitch beside her.
“Well, I’m not going in no cage. And you aren’t going to hurt them, asshole.” Randall punctuated his words with five shots from the small revolver he held in his hand.
Jo shouted, “Randall, no!” then watched in horror as Shel took all five rounds right to the chest, staggering but not falling down.
The demon looked at Randall, then looked down at the cluster of five small holes in his torso. “Ouch,” he said. “That wasn’t very nice, Randall. Or very smart.” He snarled at the stunned police officer, then took three big strides forward and ripped Randall’s throat out with his right hand.
Shel looked at the trachea in his hand, licked the blood pouring from it, then spat on Randall’s dying body. “Too many trans fats, Randall. Your cholesterol was awful. Makes the blood too thick, messes with the texture.” He dropped the bloody hunk of flesh on the floor, then leaned down and wiped his hand on Randall’s pants leg.
Shel straightened up and waved to the cage. “Let’s go, children. We have a fight to get to, and your daughter has years of therapy to earn.” He walked past Jo and Mitch, straight into the cage. Jo handed her hammer to Mitch and went to kneel at Randall’s side. She closed his eyes, folded his hands on his chest, and picked up the sword from where it lay by his body.
Mitch and Jo went into the cage together but split as soon as they entered the octagon, spreading out to attack from two angles. As they readied for a charge, Shel held up his hand.
“Wait for it, my dears. You don’t think this is a private event, do you?” He snapped his fingers, and the rest of the lights in the gym flashed to life. Jo blinked from the sudden brightness, bringing one hand up to shield her eyes.
“Welcome, my friends, to the show that never ends,” Shel said in a sing-song voice. “Tonight we have your inimitable host—me, facing two challengers at once. Please welcome Iron Jo Henry and the Archangel Michael!” Canned applause echoed through the deserted room as Shel twirled in place and pumped his arms over his head.
He sighed and looked at Jo. “Aren’t you two even going to pretend to be excited? I mean it’s not every day you get to battle a demon, is it?”
“You’d be surprised,” Jo replied.
“Okay,” Shel said. “But how often do you get it streamed live direct to Hell!” He waved his hand around the ring, and Jo looked up. Mounted above the cage were half a dozen GoPro miniature video cameras, no doubt doing exactly what Shel said—streaming the match to whatever and whoever wanted to see it.
“Great, I get to die on live TV, and I forgot to wear makeup,” Jo growled.
“Don’t worry,” Shel said. “When you’re dead, I’ll paint your face in angel blood. I hear it does wonders for the skin. Now let’s ring the bell!”
Shel waved his hand again, and a bell rang from somewhere. He grinned across the ring at Jo and Mitch, then said, “Who wants to die first?”
13
Mitch and Jo sprea
d out farther, working to make life as difficult for their opponent as possible. Jo tossed the sword in Mitch’s direction, but he just scowled at her and shook his head. She hefted her hammer and charged the demon, hoping Mitch would at least take a couple of shots at its head while she distracted it.
She swung, but Shel ducked the blow easily. He came up with a slash at her stomach, his claws flashing out just an inch or two in front of her as she hopped back out of range. She ducked a slash at her face, then rolled to one side as she heard the bark of a gun at close range.
“Ow, dammit!” Shel said, his hand going to the back of his head. He turned around, and Jo saw Mitch standing there, a smoking pistol in his hand.
“Where the hell did you get that?” she asked.
“I swiped it out of Randall’s trunk,” he replied, squeezing off three more rounds. The bullets smacked into the demon’s head and neck, tearing chunks of flesh from his face. Shel didn’t go down, though, just waved his hand at Mitch and grinned as the gun flew from his hand over the top of the cage.
Jo took advantage of the momentary distraction and laid a shot on Shel’s knee that landed with a sickening crunch. The big demon dropped, a howl of pain piercing the night. He spun on one knee, then sprang at Jo, who dove to the left in a frantic attempt to avoid getting ripped to shreds by an angry demon.
“Bitch, I will eat your entrails for that,” Shel snarled.
Jo stood and squared her shoulders. “Don’t call me that.”
“I will call you anything I want, bitch,” the demon said, moving forward at a limp. Its right leg dragged, nearly useless, but in a cage barely thirty feet across, Shel didn’t have to get far. One good lunge and Jo had to duck under outstretch claws and lash out with her hammer again to keep from being crushed.
The hammer landed a glancing blow on the demon’s hip, just enough to spin the monster around and give Jo a little breathing room. Mitch darted in, his gun forgotten, and launched a series of kicks at Shel, alternating between head and knee shots. Nothing significant landed, though, and when the demon planted its good leg and sprang away from Mitch’s assault, it caught Jo around the middle and tumbled her to the floor.
Calling All Angels (The Shadow Council Case Files Book 1) Page 8
