“Fine,” I said, standing and moving back over to the guy. “Why don’t we at least introduce ourselves first. I’m Quincy Harker.”
His eyes widened a little, and he shot a nervous look over at Arianne. “The Reaper?”
I nodded. “I’ve been called that. Among other things.” I didn’t bother mentioning that “asshole” was chief among the other things, but he didn’t need to know that.
“I’m Marcus. I’m the healer for…” He looked to the girl in the chair.
“My group,” Arianne supplied.
“It’s cool, doll,” I said, throwing in the “doll” just to wind her up a little. Judging by the red tips on her ears, I’d say it worked. “I understand if you don’t want me to know what you call your little coven. You don’t have to tell me where the Hall of Justice is either.”
“Let’s get you patched up so we can figure out how we can help you,” Marcus said.
“Or if we’re just going to throw you out of town,” Arianne countered.
I didn’t bother responding. There wasn’t any point. I just sat down on the bed and turned a little toward Marcus. “Go for it, Doc. Perform your sartorial magic on these poor garments.”
He looked a little confused.
“Cut my clothes and fix my shoulder,” I translated.
He nodded and got to work. First, he helped me out of the long-sleeve button-down shirt I wore over my gray Transformers t-shirt. Then he cut the t-shirt up the sleeve to the neck, and down from the armpit to the bottom hem, and peeled it back.
“This is probably going to hurt,” he said. “Do you need something to bite on to keep from screaming?”
“Yeah, we wouldn’t want the hotel security to come running, thinking we’re killing you,” Arianne agreed.
I opened my Sight for a second and saw that my sound-dampening spell from earlier was still in effect. It would last for a couple of days at least. I blinked my vision back to normal and looked at my makeshift doctor. “Nah, we’re good,” I said. “Nobody outside this room will hear anything that happens inside it as long as my spell is still going.”
“Okay,” Marcus said, and put one hand on my elbow. He pulled, lifted, pushed, and tweaked my elbow and shoulder for several minutes until I felt everything click back in the right spots with a sickening pulse of sheer blinding agony. Then he put his right hand on my collarbone, holding my elbow and arm stationary with his left, and closed his eyes.
“Blessed Mother, share your light and energy with this man. Mend his hurts and cure his ills so that he may once more sally forth in battle against thine enemies. Make him whole once more, and repair the source of his pain. Bathe him in your cleansing light and make him as new again.”
My shoulder screamed and throbbed when Marcus began his invocation, but as he spoke, a deep warmth suffused my arm, radiating out from the palm of his hand, pouring heat into my fractured clavicle to engulf my entire upper body in warm, pulsating energy. I felt the bones knit together, and the muscles strengthen, and the ligaments reattach, and even the damage to my lungs from the fire was repaired. A couple of minutes later, and I felt good as new. Better, actually, because for the first time in years, no part of my body was in pain or even uncomfortable.
I turned to look at Marcus, and he smiled at me, then passed out on the bed.
“That happens,” Arianne said from behind me. “Healing takes a lot out of the healer. It takes a lot out of the patient, too, even though it doesn’t feel like it at the time. I know you feel like a million bucks right now, but don’t go chasing down anyone else to scrap with tonight. You’ll probably die, and then Marcus would have wasted his efforts.”
I stood up and could feel how right she was. I felt fantastic, but it was a very tired fantastic. I got a clean shirt from my dresser, threw it on, and pulled out a pair of sweats. “I’m gonna go get out of these smoke-scented clothes,” I said. “If you’re still here when I get back, we can talk about why you knocked me out, then healed me.”
I walked into the bathroom, took care of some necessary bodily functions, and washed my face, neck, and arms. Then I shucked my Docs, dropped my jeans and boxers onto the floor and contemplated a shower. I decided that I was more likely to pass out and give myself a concussion than actually get clean, so I just did a quick sink bath and slipped on the sweats.
When I stepped back into the hotel room, I was alone. The kid was good, I had to give her that. I never heard the door close, and I was listening. There was a note on the bed, with an address and a time.
Meet me tomorrow. 2 p.m. We both have some explaining to do.
I couldn’t argue with that. I ordered a couple of beers from room service, turned on Law & Order on the room TV, and was asleep before I finished the first Heineken.
10
Of course I walked around the block three times before I entered the restaurant Arianne had directed me to. I made the first lap half an hour before our meeting to see what kind of place I was walking into, checked for back exits and adjoining buildings, then took another pass with my Sight overlaying on top of my normal vision, looking for spells or magical booby traps. It all seemed safe, so I did one more trip around the building five minutes before two in the afternoon just to make sure there were no suspicious vehicles lurking or demonic portals hanging out around the perimeter.
I stepped into The Cannonball Cafe on Meeting Street at precisely one minute after two, just in case the room was set to explode at two on the dot. I’m really not paranoid by nature, but experience has taught me several things. I hate being ambushed, I really hate being blown up, and just because you’re paranoid, doesn’t mean that someone isn’t trying to kill you.
The restaurant was nice, a real white linen tablecloth kind of place. The maître’ d looked down his nose at me, which was impressive given the six inches I had on the guy. He stood behind what would be called a hostess stand in a normal restaurant, but probably had some kind of French name in this joint, and sneered at me.
“Mr. Harker, I presume?” I’ve never understood how somebody manages to be haughty in a Southern accent, but some folks in Charleston seem to have mastered the art.
“How’d you guess?”
“I was instructed to expect a tall Yankee with terrible taste in clothing and a perpetual scowl. You seem to fit that description. Please follow me.” He turned and walked away without looking to see if I was behind him. I was, and only partly because I wanted to strangle him. I saw nothing wrong with my choice of black pants and a maroon dress shirt for this meeting. I even put on my good belt.
I followed my snooty guide up three flights of switchback stairs to a rooftop veranda with two tables set up under a white fabric awning. A large black man stood behind a small bar with a martini shaker in his hand and a white apron around his waist. I swallowed every comment that crossed my mind about progressive cities and stereotypes as Pepe le Asshat led me across the roof to a round table set for four. Three people already sat there. Arianna, Marcus, and a white-haired woman with a kind face but steel in her blue eyes, all rose to greet me as I stopped a few feet from the table.
The exposed rooftop lunch spot was not something I considered in my reconnaissance, and I didn’t like being so exposed. There were a lot of buildings taller than this one in the surrounding blocks, and a sniper could easily take me out before I could raise any type of shield. Especially with a head shot.
“Have a seat, Mr. Harker. We promise not to try to kill you before you’ve had dessert. You simply must try the peach cobbler. It’s to die for.” Arianna motioned to the fourth chair as my lunch companions took their seats.
I stood in front of my chair for a moment, then extended my hand to Marcus. “I never got the chance to thank you for your help last night. I appreciate it. I felt great this morning. I hope it didn’t take too much out of you.”
He half-stood and shook my hand. “I was a little more draggy than usual, but I’m okay now. That’s why Ari called our meeting for so late. She knows
what a healing like that takes out of me.”
I turned to the other woman. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure. Quincy Harker.” I held out my hand. The woman just looked at it.
“I know you, Reaper. I know your uncle, the parasite, as well.”
“Never heard him referred to in quite that fashion, but I suppose it’s valid enough,” I said, pulling my hand back and sitting. “Sorry, I suppose I missed your name.”
“I am Tara, High Priestess of the Moon. And you are an interloper in my city.”
“I prefer the term tourist, but whatever.” The table was set with ice water and an amber beverage I assumed was sweet iced tea. A pretty safe assumption in South Carolina, where the default seemed to be tea so sweet a spoon could stand up in the glass. I sipped on my water.
“When do you plan to leave and take your necromancy with you? We find that type of magic an abomination, and its practitioners are not welcome here,” Tara continued.
“I’ll leave when I’m done with my business,” I replied. “Are we going to order lunch, or was this all just a charade to get me here with the promise of a free meal?”
Arianne ducked her head, a tiny smile making her look even younger. There was some slight resemblance between the razor-cheeked Tara and the goth cherub Arianne, but it was pretty minor. I couldn’t tell if they were distant cousins or just spent so much time together they started to look alike.
“I will not break bread with one who sucks the souls of the dead into lifeless husks for his own nefarious purposes.” Tara’s voice boomed across the rooftop.
“Well, I guess this is why you went for the private dining room, huh?” I asked. I stood up, and Marcus followed suit, his hand drifting around behind his back. “Calm down, Junior. There’s nothing you’re pulling out from behind your back that I’m afraid of, so don’t even try.”
His hand slipped back to his side, and he looked a little abashed. I turned my attention back to Tara. “Okay, lady, here’s the deal. I’m here on a job, and I’m going to do that job with or without you. I don’t know fuck-all about your necromancer problem, just that he tried to fricassee me last night, and that means he’s number nine on my shit list with a bullet. So if you didn’t call me here to help me hunt him down, then at least do me the professional courtesy of staying the fuck out of my way.”
I turned to go and made it halfway across the roof before Tara spoke. “Wait,” she said, and her tone was that of a woman who was on the edge of losing the last tiny grasp on her shit.
I stopped, but didn’t turn around. “We gonna talk like civilized people over a burger with enough bacon to give bystanders cholesterol problems, or am I going to keep walking?”
“Please, come sit down, Mr. Harker,” Arianne said. “I’m sure this is all just a misunderstanding.”
I turned around and walked back to the table, but I didn’t sit. “There’s nothing to misunderstand,” I said. “You fuckers have been popping up in my shit since the minute I got here. I was just minding my own business down on the pier when you decided to come down and piss on the ground to mark your territory. I appreciate the save last night, that was really helpful, but this bullshit today? Fuck you. Fuck you, and the broomstick you rode in on. You say you know me? You say you know my uncle? Then you know what we do for people who need it, and you know what we do to people who threaten us. So if you want to dance, let’s dance. But if you’re not going to help me or fight me, then leave me the fuck alone.”
I stood there, the pissed-off rolling outward from me in waves, and me not giving a single fuck. I stood there watching Arianne, Marcus, and their snooty friend exchange meaningful glances for a solid couple of minutes before finally Tara looked up at me and nodded.
“Please sit, Mr. Harker. I apologize for my earlier rudeness. It was uncalled for.”
“Apology accepted,” I said, pulling my chair out and sitting back down. I was really glad she hadn’t called my bluff. I was pretty good physically after last night’s singeing, but there was no way I had enough mojo to duel three witches at once, and that’s not even taking the waiters into account.
“Now,” I said, taking a sip of tea and managing not to wince at the sweetness. “I met a necromancer last night who’s doing some nasty shit to ghosts in your famously haunted city. What’s up with that?”
Tara looked at Arianne, who made a “go ahead” gesture. “His real name is Lawrence Barathan, he now calls himself The Grand Barathan, as you heard. He is one of our former members who had designs on a greater amount of power and influence in the mundane world than we are comfortable pursuing. We cast him out, but he has continued in his efforts to influence events and gain personal wealth and authority. He seems to be using the spirits of the departed to identify objects of power, and then he works to acquire them, by any means necessary.”
I could feel my brow wrinkle. “Isn’t this exactly the kind of thing Sorin and his people are here to prevent? Why haven’t they stepped in?”
“Cassidy and her group have been occupied with some other, more lethal, events of late. It seems that Lawrence’s actions have flown beneath their radar as of yet. He has been very cautious in what type of artifact he pursues, trying to remain beneath Sorin’s notice.”
“Seems like a good idea. I’ve dealt with Sorin once or twice. Guy’s a legitimate badass. So what is your pal Barry’s endgame? What’s he trying to do?” I asked.
Arianna leaned forward. “We think he’s going to try to destroy the Coven of the Moon.”
“I assume that’s you guys?” They nodded. “What makes you think he wants to kill you?”
“He told us so,” Marcus replied. “When we threw him out of the coven, he threatened to kill the three of us and everyone he saw wearing the symbol of the Moon.” He pulled a pendant out from under his shirt, a full moon on a silver chain.
“That seems pretty clear,” I said. “So why is he still walking around?”
From the looks on their faces, you’d have thought I suggested reenacting Sherman’s march instead of eliminating an obvious threat to their lives.
“What are you talking about, exactly?” Arianna asked.
“Killing the bad witch before he kills all of you was the first thing that came to mind,” I said.
“We are not murderers, Mr. Harker,” Tara said with a haughty sniff.
“Neither am I,” I replied. “But I’m also not going to just sit around and wait for some assclown with a ghost fetish to kill me in my bed. This guy has got some serious chops; I felt them last night. He almost took me out. He might have, if not for Marky Marcus and Arianne showing up when they did. So it’s not murder. It’s self-defense, just the magical version.”
“We do not kill,” Marcus said.
“Speak for your—oh, I get it now,” I said as realization dawned. I stood up and once again walked toward the rooftop door. This time it wasn’t a negotiating tactic; this time I was legitimately done with these fuckers.
“Wait, please!” Arianna called after me.
“Go fuck yourself,” I said. “I might be a killer, but I’m not an assassin. You want this jackass dead, you’re going to have to do your own dirty work.”
“They can’t,” said the bartender, who was between me and the door for some reason. “It’s not in their nature.”
“Too bad,” I replied. “Now step aside, dickhead.”
“I don’t think so, Mr. Harker.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” I muttered, calling up a tiny bit of power, just enough to shove the man to the side. I gestured at him, releasing the power with a low “sidestep.”
Nothing happened. The power struck him in the shoulder and just flowed around him.
“That’s not how that’s supposed to work,” I said.
“Sorry about that,” the bartender said, as he reached up to pull his face off, revealing the wizard who scorched me half to death last night standing in front of me. “I’m glad to hear you won’t be hunting me down to kill me. Unf
ortunately, I’ve already hunted you down, so now I suppose I’ll just kill you instead.”
Goddammit.
11
He looked different with clothes on, and in the daylight, and not surrounded by soul-sucking ghosts, but I was pretty sure this was the same guy who threw a fireball at me last night. Now he was three feet in front of me, dressed like a waiter, his dark skin a sharp contrast to the white tuxedo shirt he wore. A thick, ropey scar ran diagonally the entire length of his face, from his forehead across his nose and mouth, all the way down his cheek. The way it lifted one lip in a perpetual sneer made him look a little menacing, and little like a low-rent Billy Idol impersonator.
“Lemme see if I remember this right, you’re the Great Baratheon? Or is that the guy from Game of Thrones? I can never keep track of everybody on that show. And to be honest, I just watch it for the boobs.”
He snarled and raised a glowing hand. I made a mental note to never make my hands glow again. Ever since Doctor Strange hit DVD, every asshole in the world with an ounce of magical ability makes their hands glow for everything. I took the hint and stepped forward, punching him hard in the nose.
“Ow!” he shouted, stepping back. The punch had the desired effect, though, scattering his attention and breaking his spell. Marcus looked like he was still pretty tired, so I didn’t want him to have to heal me again. And with my magic still pretty low, punching the snot out of this asshole seemed like my best plan to resolve things quickly, and without bloodshed on my part.
“Stoneskin!” he shouted, and his skin turned gargoyle-gray. I checked myself before I punched him again, not wanting to break my fist.
“Really?” I asked. “The best you can come up with is a third-level D&D spell? You’re a disgrace to magicians everywhere, and quite possibly infringing on copyright just by saying that shit.”
Devil Inside: A Quincy Harker, Demon Hunter Urban Fantasy Novella Page 6
