Raw Power: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Demon-Hearted Book 1)

by Ambrose Ibsen

  For a demon, getting impaled is just another bump in the road, I guess. A trifling nuisance.

  “You did walk into a trap, my dears,” came a crooked old voice in the distance. Soft footsteps broke up the silence as someone approached. “Walked straight into it. Did you really believe us to be so naïve? Did you truly think we wouldn't know we were being followed? You don't give us enough credit.”

  Kubo grit his teeth, glancing about for the source of the voice. “Show yourself, Agatha. I didn't come here to listen to you talk about how clever you are.”

  Agatha chuckled dryly, still hidden from view. Her voice seemed to snake into our ears from multiple locations. She could have been anywhere. “I rather think not,” she replied. From every direction there materialized a dense, opaque fog. It surged in on a chill breeze and obscured my surroundings completely. I was only a few feet away from Kubo and the others, but couldn't see them. Visibility was so low that I couldn't see more than a few inches in front of me. It was a pervasive, clinging fog, like nothing ever seen in nature. Agatha had cast this haze and intended to keep us trapped in it.

  I heard Kubo curse. “Lose the fog, Agatha. Why not drop the illusions and fight us on equal footing? Then we'll see who's trapped who.”

  A few hoarse laughs erupted from nearby, the witches amused at the suggestion.

  “No,” said Agatha. “All of you have reached the end of your journey. As we speak I have two of my sisters dispatched back to that house. They will have the child in their possession very shortly. When the full moon comes, our final sacrifice to Gadreel will be secured. But never mind that. I must warn you; the end will not come quickly. I intend to make you suffer for your meddling. I trust that the Veiled Order will handle your funeral arrangements? That is... if there's anything left here for them to identify.” She burst out laughing, a hideous fit of cackling and gasping laughter that incited a fierce nausea in me.

  Any creature capable of making such sounds needed to get wiped off the map, with prejudice. My interactions with Agatha and her coven were vanishingly few, but right then I found that I could agree on something with the bloodthirsty demon dwelling inside of me.

  These witches needed to die.

  Every last one of them.

  A deep chanting arose from within the fog. Guttural, clipped phrases I couldn't hope to decipher spilled from the coven's lips as they prepared some spell or ritual en masse. Their booby traps had been enough to turn me into a pincushion; what could these witches do by concentrating all of their energies into a single, powerful spell? Let's just say I didn't want to find out.

  I balled my fists and started through the fog. There was no telling where I'd end up, or if I was moving at all, the barrier was so dense. I figured that if I kept on walking, though, I'd end up face-to-face with someone. Would it be friend or foe?

  From nearby, I heard the click of Joe's Zippo. He switched it on, a dull orange flame cutting through the haze. Joe was just a few steps away from me, and though I couldn't see him, I could see the flickering flame rising into the air. He was holding it over his head, preparing to launch an attack of his own. “Fuck this shit,” he spat, the flame growing brighter and larger. “Hope you bitches are ready, because we're about to have us a good ol' witch burning, just like in the old days!”

  “No, Joe, don't--” Kubo tried to warn him, barking in panicked tones I'd never heard him use.

  But it was too late.

  The flame from Joe's lighter whipped through the air in a giant arc, expanding, growing brighter. It seemed to eat up the fog, making it thinner in places where the flame burned hottest.

  I don't know what Joe was intending, but I'm pretty sure he hadn't planned on blowing everything to smithereens.

  Kubo's warning made sense to me just a moment too late. Sensing the oncoming explosion, I hit the ground and covered my head.

  Not that it helped.

  Boom.

  The entire back of my body was scorched by a torrent of rampaging fire.

  The fog was ignited, apparently very flammable, and the entire area was lit up by a spectacular explosion. Warehouses were blown apart, their crumbling serving to dampen the cries of witches from all around. I felt the ground rumbling beneath me as the buildings came down, felt my skin sizzle till it looked approximately the same way I like my bacon. The pain was incredible, as was the ear-shattering bang that had accompanied the blast.

  I closed my eyes and screamed into the ground, waiting for the intense burning to stop.

  It never did. My body was enveloped, and when the initial explosion had run its course, I felt a huge mass of rubble crashing onto me.

  TWENTY

  When the smoke had finally cleared and silence reigned over the scene, I had a hell of a time getting free of the rubble. Slowly, I rolled off pieces of numerous warehouses which should have left me flatter than a pancake and gained my feet. Already my skin was coming together nicely, the horrible burns that'd plagued it just moments ago rapidly disappearing.

  Knife-proof and fire-proof? Today was shaping up to be a pretty good day for me.

  The same could not be said for the other members of the team, whom I couldn't track down even as I surveyed the smoking mess all around me. Three whole warehouses had come down and still others had been thoroughly damaged. Smoke rose from beneath the slabs of wood and concrete that formed an unnavigable sea, and I was sure that compartmentalized fires were still burning throughout the wreckage.

  “C-chief?” I called out, knocking dust from my hair and coughing.

  There was no sign of the witches, either. It was possible they'd been crushed or incinerated in the blast. The explosion had been pretty intense. If not for the demon heart in me I'd have bought the farm, no doubt about it. Had the witches managed to escape? Could they have shielded themselves? Somehow, I didn't think so. Spell casters like Isabella seemed to need time to cast their enchantments. I didn't know a damn thing about spell craft, didn't know whether proper shielding spells actually existed, but figured that the witches would need at least a little notice in order to properly cast such things. Maybe they'd been far enough away from the blast to survive. Maybe they were more resilient than I gave them credit for. Whatever the case, I saw neither hide nor hair of them as I took a few wobbly steps forward.

  From under a mound of concrete, I heard faint stirrings. Bracing myself, I squinted through the night, only to see Kubo and company emerging from underneath. They looked surprisingly good for having been buried in rubble, and as the smaller pieces were moved, I could see why.

  A forcefield, like an invisible bubble, had shielded them from the worst of it. Getting closer, I could see the vague outlines of a paper sigil on the ground, near Kubo's feet. Crafty bastard had probably thrown it down when he realized what Joe was fixing to do.

  “Hey, over here!” I called, tripping and falling on my face. The mound of rubble was uneven, difficult to scale. I sat up, looking down at the group, and noticed Joe was missing. “You two OK?” I asked. “Where's Joe?”

  Kubo's spell was called off, and he reached out of the wreckage, gaining some ground and calling out to Joe. He didn't have to search for long, spotting the pyromancer just a few feet away, his body half-obscured by a piece of fallen roofing.

  Kubo called me over, and the two of us hoisted the wreckage from Joe's body. Joe twitched as we did so, his breathing ragged and his clothing-- or what little remained of it-- covered in dust. He was covered in small burns, and didn't look capable of standing. But he was alive, which was no small miracle. Being at the epicenter of the blast, he should've been blown apart, yet there he was, still in one piece.

  Well, nearly one piece.

  His right arm hadn't fared so well.

  The arm that'd raised the lighter into the air had been thoroughly scorched past the elbow and didn't look like it'd ever work again. In fact, it was so awfully charred and eaten away by the flames that the slightest breeze seemed capable
of making it disintegrate into ash.

  Kubo scooped up Joe carefully in his arms and then slung him over one shoulder. “We need to go, get him some help.”

  I nodded, offering Isabella a hand as she attempted to clumsily mount the wreckage. “What about the witches, chief?”

  Kubo glanced behind him. It was dark, the moonlight blocked somewhat by a swirling cloud of dust in the air. It was impossible to know whether any of the witches had survived; no trace of them could be see outside the wreckage and he certainly didn't seem interested in searching. “There's no time. They may have been caught in the blast, but I'm sure Agatha made it out, at least. We'll discuss that later. We're in no shape to fight them now, anyhow. The authorities will be here soon, I'm sure, and they'd only get in the way. A blast of that magnitude, even in a mostly abandoned part of town, is sure to raise a few eyebrows.”

  Leading the way, Kubo jumped down piles of busted building material, cutting a makeshift path into the rubble. After several minutes of confused and inelegant maneuvering, he led us back to the SUV, upon which he laid a hand for some moments before declaring it safe. Apparently the witches hadn't booby-trapped it. Kubo laid Joe across the third row of seating. Then the three of us hopped in and left the warehouse district just as the sounds of sirens could be heard to stir in the distance.

  I looked back at Joe, who barely moved. His breathing was weak, his face pale. “Is he gonna make it?” I asked.

  Isabella was in a daze, leaning against the back of her seat and staring up at the car ceiling. She kept wetting her lips, her shoulders limp and her hands buried in her lap. Her burlap-colored outfit was singed, as were the ends of her dark hair, but she looked mostly OK. Kubo, too, was looking all right, considering what we'd just faced. And anyway, he was far too tough a guy to ever admit to his being pained by something. For all I knew he was actively dying in the driver's seat, struck some mortal blow. I'd never know it until it was too late, though.

  “He'll be fine if we get him back to HQ soon,” replied Kubo, giving the SUV some gas and turning onto Bancroft Street. A mile ahead, I knew there to be a highway entrance ramp. While sliding into the right lane, Kubo toyed with a black box on the dash, a police scanner, turning knobs until he happened upon a particular channel.

  --yeah, copy that. Kid's just over a year old, blonde hair. Last seen in a blue one-piece outfit. Was in his crib. The second-story window was the point of entry, and there's a burn on the carpet--

  “Goddammit!” Kubo punched the steering wheel, denting it out of shape. “They got the kid.”

  I held my breath. Those witches, those hideous creatures, had abducted the kid after all. The coven had played us, outsmarted us, and that baby had been taken from its parents. I felt immensely guilty, wished I'd stayed in that nursery, standing sentry. But it was too late. “S-so... what now?” I chanced.

  Fuming, Kubo switched off the police scanner. “The coven has what it wants. They're simply going to lay low now, remain hidden. That's all they have to do to win this game, disappear for a while. They won't risk being found out again and will stay put until the time comes to make their sacrifice. We may have blown our only chance at stopping this. The Veiled Order is going to have to keep its ear to the ground... we have until the night of the full moon.”

  “I see.” I gulped. “So, things aren't good, I take it?”

  Kubo shook his head.

  He pulled onto the highway, screaming onto the entrance ramp at seventy-five and then kicking it up to ninety when the road straightened out. He drove ninety-plus all the way to HQ.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Dropping Joe off at the Veiled Order's headquarters was done with very little fanfare. A team of medics was waiting just inside the gate, and they carted him off immediately upon our arrival, probably taking him to the same room where I'd been held after my operation.

  Kubo didn't wait around to see how Joe was doing, didn't ask the medics any questions as they carted him off. The chief simply shut the doors and then pulled back out of the complex, returning to the highway. He intended to drop me and Isabella off at home.

  With precious little chit-chat, Kubo made the drive to my apartment, letting me off at the curb. “I'll be in touch,” he said as I opened the door and stepped out. It was the longest sentence he'd spoken the whole way.

  Dizzied by the night's events, I stumbled into my place and locked the door behind me.

  Then, bushed, my clothing still dusty and scorched, I flopped onto the sofa and took a nap.

  #

  The sleep didn't last long, my dreams punctuated by scenes from my waking life. I was startled awake by a dream that'd ended with an exploding warehouse, and sat up, wiping at my eyes. There had been some other memories in the mix as well, fragments that I could only trace to that first night, when I'd first received the demon's heart. The night I couldn't remember. My brain had been teased by snippets of memory featuring me dashing across rooftops, entering the abandoned house in Flint, shoving over a display at Sam's and shouting obscenities at Scott. There was also another bit, where I'd threatened a young pedestrian and stolen his shorts.

  The apartment was dim; upon returning I'd only switched on the light over the kitchen sink. My limbs still sore from the night's events, I ambled to the sink and took a few gulps directly from the tap. I also splashed some water on my face and changed out of my sooty clothes.

  Still, I didn't feel any more human for it.

  My mind was racing with questions, with concern.

  I didn't hardly know Joe, and the guy was sort of an asshole.

  But I was worried about him.

  If anyone on Earth could patch the guy up, it was those shady bastards with the Veiled Order. I didn't have any doubt in my mind that they'd call in some expert, perform some esoteric procedure and make him feel like new, but I still didn't think it was right, the way we'd just dumped him off at HQ. Kubo was far too impersonal, too committed to the mission. I couldn't help but think that he only viewed us as disposable underlings, pawns in some larger game.

  I switched on the turntable, listening to side one of Raw Power. I paced along with “Your Pretty Face Is Going To Hell” and well into “I Need Somebody”, but the music only seemed to make me more agitated. I wanted to walk, to get some fresh air. And maybe some answers.

  I weighed the idea of returning to HQ, of having a chat with Kubo. He'd taken me out on this reckless mission tonight, and had scarcely told me anything about what we were doing or why we were doing it. What were the witches up to with all of this sacrificial business? How does this magic stuff work? These and other questions were all something he could answer for me, and putting on a pair of old tennis shoes, I decided to go for a twilit run to HQ. Sufficiently amped up by the music, I locked up and started onto the dark streets.

  ***

  The front door was heavily reinforced. The gate had been easy enough to scale, but I could have thumped this monstrous door all night and it never would have opened. Instead, I tapped the button on the intercom like a civilized person and waited for someone to buzz me in. Kubo hadn't told me about how to get into the Veiled Order's offices during his little briefing. Perhaps because I wasn't supposed to visit except for official business. Kubo liked to throw that shitty verbiage around, “official business”. Like that was supposed to mean something to me.

  I hit the button again, scoring the somewhat groggy voice of an overnight attendant. “How can I help you?”

  “Hey, this is Lucian Colt. I, uh... work here. And I was hoping to come in and have a talk with Mr. Kubo?” I leaned against the concrete doorway, tapping my foot.

  There was a grumble from the other end of the intercom. I wasn't sure that the fellow was going to let me in, until, suddenly, the door gave way with a click and he buzzed to tell me that I was “all clear”.

  I walked into the well-lit lobby. It was every bit as pristine as I remembered it from the last morning, during my previous visit with Ku
bo. Except for the sleepy-looking guy with his ankles up on the counter, and one other person, the lobby was empty.

  This other person standing beside the desk, however, made me stop in my tracks.

  It was Mr. Amundsen.

  I stared at him a long while, unsure of what to say. I wasn't exactly happy to see the guy. When last we'd met, I'd been chained to a hospital bed and drugged out of my mind. He smiled at me, but it was impossible for me not to see something of the predator in that smile, and I took a step back. “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  He grinned, approaching me with all the warmth he usually afforded me. “I should probably be asking you that, Lucian, but I'll have you know that I spend a great deal of time here, doing administrative work with the Order.” He leaned against the front counter with one elbow. “Now, what can I help you with this fine night?”

  Amundsen was dressed in a black suit, mighty fancy dress for one to be wearing at nearly three in the morning. The silvery pendant I'd noticed on him before was featured prominently over his black tie. Many-pointed star, inscribed with strange, foreign-looking markings. A black streak across the middle. It'd been on his little black box, too, unless my memory was failing me.

  “I, uh...” I cleared my throat, speaking more forcefully. “I came here to get some answers. You jerks brought me into the fold but haven't told me a damn thing about what really goes on around here. I want to talk to Chief Kubo. I want to know more about these witches, about the magic...” Then, I added, “And I want to know how Joe's doing. He got hurt tonight, and Kubo just handed him over to the medics without a care.”

  Nodding amusedly, Amundsen combed a hand through his hair and tried to hide his smile. “Well, I suppose you're entitled to know a little more about this organization, Lucian, being a prominent member and all. It's never been our intention to keep you in the dark, you understand, but the circumstances being what they are-- the coven, having arrived so close to their aim-- there's been precious little time for a proper introduction.” He motioned to a nearby hallway, just beyond the bank of elevators, and started from the front desk. “We can talk on the way to the infirmary.”