The Resurrection Game

by Michelle Belanger

  For Remy it was different, and I was confronted with a poignant reminder of this as I joined No-Neck No. 2 at the front of the line. In a place of honor upon the wall between two strips of lighted glass hung a series of framed photographs. Front and center was a woman whose face I would never forget.

  Her name was Alice and she’d worked the door. Anchor or lover to my brother Remy—I’d never thought to ask, although I knew he’d helped arrange her funeral—she’d been one of several casualties in the shooting last year. All were victims of a pair of cacodaimons that had rushed the club while skin-riding the bodies of two murdered cops. The shooters had come for me, but, along the way they’d delighted in ventilating as many people as possible.

  The glass on either side of the photos slowly shifted through a soothing spectrum of pastels, a real change from the usual goth palette of Sal’s kink bar. Battery-powered votives flickered from little holders in the frames, casting soft illumination across the memorialized faces of guests and staff. I took a few quiet moments to study them each—Alice, the bouncer, one of Sal’s human pets, and three other club-kids who I’d only seen in passing at the time.

  As the gunfire and adrenaline rekindled in memory, I redoubled all my shields. Sal could build over the bullet holes, she could scrub the blood from the floors, but there was no way to erase the horror of that night. Screams still echoed beneath the pulsing music, at least to my Anakim ears. In the fabric of the Shadowside, the event replayed in an endlessly stuttering loop, layered among the strata of other violent encounters—some supernatural, others tied to mob-hits and similar criminal-world clashes.

  Club Heaven was nearly as old as Sal’s influence in this town, and within its walls she had played a long and very dangerous game. There were always consequences.

  “Come on, get moving,” my burly escort said. With the gravel in his voice, he could’ve moonlighted as a sandblaster. He preceded me into the main room.

  The dance floor was a crush of people—unsurprising for this time on a Saturday night. Beautiful men and women ground hip to hip and cheek to cheek alongside other stunning people who seamlessly filled the spaces between the binary. In Sal’s club, gender could be as changeable as eyeliner. No one asked and no one cared. They groped and pawed and kissed in the flickering sea of lights and music, drunk on one another’s flesh. Those not dancing were packed five deep at the bars.

  Overwhelmed by the gyrating mob, I pulled into myself, loathe to touch or be touched—especially with the power of the Nephilim icon still singing in my veins. The bouncer cut a swath straight through the dance floor, giving no shits who he shouldered aside. I wasn’t so lucky—the crowd clove together immediately in his wake, and a few of the club’s pleasure-seekers sought to grind into me.

  I warned them away with a look.

  Finally, we reached the far side of the main floor. The observation deck still jutted partway up the back wall. Like the main entrance, it had been remodeled, the industrial steel of its railings replaced with twists of wrought iron and an ornate balustrade that matched the rich wood of the dueling bars. The platform had been expanded to fit a row of little bistro tables, two seats apiece, and these were arranged alongside the railing to facilitate people-watching.

  The door leading to the back rooms—the real bread and butter of Club Heaven—remained unchanged. Black and imposing, it was guarded by a burly security staffer who stood so motionless beside the frame, I almost missed her. Chin high, eyes forward, she held her post like a soldier at attention. Her suit jacket hung open to clearly reveal the gun she wore at her side.

  No-Neck No. 2 guided me up the stairs to his female counterpart. In flats, she stood easily as tall as me. She wore her dark hair twined tightly in a wealth of skinny braids, all of them gathered into a ponytail that hung heavily past her shoulders.

  “Caleb,” she said, nodding curtly. Her voice was raised to carry over the pounding of the music. It was deep for a woman and jazz-singer smooth.

  “Tanisha, this is Zack Westland,” my escort said. He leaned close so she could hear him as he dropped his voice. “Take him back to the sanctuary.” Her eyes flicked immediately to the bulge where my second dagger hung awkwardly inside my jacket. I’d never thought to move it, even after I got feeling back in that arm.

  “You already frisk this guy?” she asked, incredulous.

  “No, they didn’t, and I’ll save you the trouble,” I said. I slipped my hands from my pockets and held my arms out to the sides so she could see everything, if she wanted. “I’ve got two knives and a gun and no, you can’t have them.”

  The words were hardly out of my mouth before Tanisha surged forward, all flashing eyes and gritted teeth. She went straight for where the blade sagged against my jacket. I brought an arm up to deflect her grasping fingers. In a blur of movement, Caleb stepped between us. Nephilim speed. He shoved Tanisha back a step. A brusque shake of his head warned her against any further outbursts.

  “This one’s family. He keeps the weapons.”

  She bristled. “Do they want more trouble?” she snapped. “Because that’s how you get trouble, and how people get dead.” Her hand lay on her firearm, and never wavered.

  “I’m usually the one getting shot at,” I said, finally returning my blade to its sheath. “If that happens, you’ll be happy I’m armed.” She speared me with a look one might reserve for an unstable crate of dynamite masquerading badly as a human.

  “Just take him back to the boss,” her co-worker advised. The weary note to his voice suggested this wasn’t the first time she’d wrangled with him over a point. I wondered how long she would last—and what the fuck she was doing guarding the back rooms.

  Not my circus, I reminded myself.

  “Fine,” she choked. As soon as he had passed me off, No-Neck No. 2—aka Caleb—turned on his heel and started walking away. Tanisha’s lips flattened and she glowered at his retreating backside. “Always got me baby-sitting,” she grumbled.

  “I promise not to explode,” I quipped.

  She gestured sharply as she got the door. “You walk in front,” she instructed. “If you pull a weapon on me, I put you in the hospital. I don’t care who you know.”

  Stuffing my hands back into my pockets, I ambled past her into the familiar black-on-black-on-black vestibule. Leather couches, silver spatter—some things in Heaven hadn’t changed. As I stepped across the threshold, a shiver gripped me from top to toe. Even with all my shields held tight, Alice’s face flashed before my eyes. This was the very spot where she had died—trying to escape the shooters and get to Remy.

  I’d stood beside my brother as he’d cradled her staring corpse.

  “What’s your problem?” Tanisha demanded. From a pocket inside her suit, she withdrew a keycard. This lounge was little more than an airlock between the public club and Sal’s preferred domain. They’d gotten smart and locked it up tight. The last time, there had only been a guard on the door.

  He’d died right after Alice.

  “Probably better if I don’t share,” I responded.

  With an unhappy grunt, she swiped the keycard and held the door. “Then how about you move?”

  We strode in silence through the maze of back halls, floors, walls, and ceilings all painted black. The only relief was the red on the doors—and there were a lot of them. This portion of Heaven could have passed for a hotel, if not for voyeur-friendly windows and extensive collections of bondage equipment.

  She-Hulk didn’t bother with small talk, and I wasn’t up for it, either. Every step spun me with another sucking wave of déjà vu. Here was where I’d first talked with Remy—really talked, about our different natures and our tangled past. Here was where I’d almost caught the second cacodaimon.

  By the time we reached the one door without a number, my palms were slick and I felt ready to jump out of my skin. It wasn’t fear, exactly, just a useless wash of adrenaline. Triggers upon triggers lined these otherwise anonymous back hallways and my night had been s
hit already. My shields took the edge off any psychic impressions, but I had no fix for the storm of sensations roiling inside of my head.

  “If you’re gearing up to kill my boss, I’ll have a bullet through your skull before you can blink,” Tanisha promised.

  “I’m not.” It was barely a breath. I dragged my hands from my pockets and forced myself to keep them open harmlessly at my sides. I didn’t turn around to check, but I was pretty sure Tanisha already had her gun out and aimed.

  Then the door opened and I stood before Sal for the first time in almost a year.

  36

  All of my siblings were tall, but Sal was a giantess. Easily six-foot-six in her bare feet, she wore a strappy set of five-inch stilettos, a thong of matching white vinyl—and nothing else. Quickly, I fixed my eyes on her face, the black and red room a dim blur behind her. Six-three myself, I still had to look up. Even ducking, the shoes brought Sal’s head to the top of the door.

  “Zaquiel,” she smiled, and didn’t bother hiding her fangs—or anything else. An awkward flush crept over my face. Sal didn’t miss it. She only grinned wider. “I’ll take it from here, Tan. You’re dismissed.”

  The muzzle of the bouncer’s gun brushed the hairs on the back of my neck. “He’s still armed, ma’am,” Tanisha objected.

  Tickled by this, Saliriel laughed expansively. Rich contralto notes echoed up and down the corridor. From my position, I had a great view of her pointy little teeth. It was that or stare straight ahead at the jiggle of far more unnerving attributes.

  “If I feared any weapon this one might bring to bear, I wouldn’t tolerate his presence in my city,” Saliriel said. Languidly, she extended a manicured hand and laid it gently on my shoulder. The gesture appeared almost fond. I fought not to dash it away like a giant, white spider. Sal wouldn’t take kindly to the insult, and I had no desire to waste time salving her mood. She was hard enough to deal with as it was, and I wanted to get this done so I could grill Remy. “Step inside, dear brother. It’s been far too long,” she said. “I’m certain we have much to talk about.”

  Tanisha didn’t easily relent. “I still think I should stay near at hand, ma’am,” she insisted.

  Holding very still, I fully expected Sal to lunge over me and backhand the new guard for her insubordination. My sister didn’t tolerate anyone questioning her whims.

  Tanisha, somehow, was different.

  “Stand outside the door if you’d like,” Saliriel said. She waved one hand with exaggerated dismissal, the other still laying against me. “But once the room is clear, make certain no one else comes in. My discussions with my sibling are private. Understood?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Tanisha replied with crisp formality. She had to come from a military background. She had that vibe.

  Nodding absently to her underling, Saliriel slipped her hand from my shoulder—but not all at once. It was a protracted gesture, nails gliding audibly along the textured surface of the leather. Despite the jacket, I could distinctly feel the caress and fought hard not to jerk away. Sal maintained a pretense of obliviousness, all the while watching eagerly from the corner of one eye.

  Once her hand dropped away, she sighed lightly and glided a few steps away from the door. With the towering figure of my scantily clad sister no longer blocking the entrance, I finally got a good look at the room. The last time I’d been here, the place had been empty, except for two rows of red pillars drawing the eye to an honest-to-whatever-gods-you-worshipped throne.

  The throne was still there, perched upon its dais at the far end, with the pillars leading up to it, but the room was far from empty. The roughly fifteen-by-twenty foot space brimmed with people, most of whom I hardly parsed as living things because they held still as statuary. Naked save for strategic bits of chain, rope, velvet, or leather, they posed as ashtrays, tables, chairs, even candelabras, complete with lit tapers blazing from elaborate headgear—and other places.

  With one imperious clap, Sal brought the whole room to attention.

  “Out! Everyone.”

  People scurried and the furniture came alive, chairs and stranger arrangements deconstructing as their living components fled. Two among the company collected candles and other decorative objects from the backs, heads, and orifices of their companions, wiping them down and stowing them with rushed efficiency in a chest built into the base of the throne.

  Their tableau dismantled, Sal’s stable of playthings filed silently to the door. I stepped briskly to one side—the side opposite Sal. Swatting some asses for motivation, Saliriel shooed her pets into the hall. I tried not to stare at the parade of skin, but my brain picked restlessly at the mechanics of living furniture, and how any of them could have possibly enjoyed holding motionless for what might have been hours.

  My sister had some weird hobbies.

  “Tanisha, be certain that none of them linger,” Saliriel instructed. “If any disobey, collect their names and report them to me once I’m finished.”

  The bouncer’s chin dipped in brisk acknowledgement. “Of course, ma’am.” If the woman found any of this disconcerting, she did a hell of a job hiding it.

  Once the last shivering plaything had scurried out the door, Sal slammed it shut with a bang. Still naked except for those heels and the shiny triangle of panty, she strode close enough to pin me against the wall. We didn’t touch, but we didn’t have to—I pressed myself against the bricks in squirming reflex.

  “It took you long enough,” Sal said witheringly. “You, my sibling, are stubborn to the point where I may need to invent a new word.”

  “Obstinate,” I offered glibly. I couldn’t help myself. Her eyes glowed with unmasked fury and I refused to flinch. My neck started to kink as I looked up. “Unyielding. Obdurate. Obstreperous—that’s always a good one.” For months, I’d rehearsed this impending confrontation, but in none of my most bizarre imaginings had it played out with her so disconcertingly naked.

  Pink lips curled nastily in response. “How about, ‘stupid,’” she said. “Foolhardy.” She rolled the syllables decadently upon her tongue, sucking their taste. From her towering advantage, she leaned ever closer and I resigned myself to the inevitable crush of silicone implants high against my chest—there was only so far I could shrink into the wall. “And, dare I say it,” she added, “self-destructive.”

  If she pressed any closer, I’d be seeking therapy. Before that happened, she whirled abruptly on her heel and strode to the other side of the room. Every toned muscle in the long columns of her legs worked visibly beneath pale and flawless skin. Once at the throne, she draped herself across its ornately carved expanse, legs dangling casually over one of the arms.

  “I want to hear it like you mean it, Zaquiel.”

  “Hear what?” I responded, peeling my back from the bricks and restlessly resettling my wings. The walls of Heaven were more solid than most places, and my not-exactly physical appendages felt slightly crushed. I took a few halting steps toward the dais where she lounged, bristling against this delay.

  “Your apology,” she prompted.

  I almost spit on her. The response was so instinctive, so immediate, I barely managed to hold it back.

  “Never,” I choked. She regarded me from under a nest of fake lashes. Her eyes were yellow, like a cat’s, and they held the same predatory glare—infinitely patient and calculating. Squaring my shoulders, I met her look head-on. “I came to talk to Remy,” I said. “Where is he?”

  My sister didn’t blink, but slowly she shifted her gaze away. With deliberate inattentiveness, she stretched one long leg, minutely regarding the shell-pink polish on her toes.

  “Very few are given such an opportunity to redeem themselves, Zaquiel,” she said. “Don’t underestimate my anger, should you waste this very gracious gift.”

  “Oh, get over yourself.” It took all I had not to charge to the end of the room and cut the unctuous look from her face. She smiled like she knew it. All of this was a game to her, one I was terrible a
t playing. She knew that, too. “You want to talk about anger?” I demanded. “Do you have any idea how much that oath of yours has fucked with my life?”

  “Zaquiel,” she cooed. Idly, she fluffed the tinseled mass of her platinum hair. “It’s not as if anyone forced you into it. That oath was your choice.”

  “You cut a pretty thin line between choice and coercion,” I said.

  Sal was off the throne in an eyeblink, her demeanor flipping from casual insouciance to acid-spitting rage in less time than it took her to cross the room. Golden fire kindled in her eyes, and she loomed inches from my face, one long finger jabbed painfully into my chest.

  “I am not the one who reneged on their word,” she hissed. “You promised me the Eye, and you have yet to deliver. We’ve avoided a confrontation only because I have allowed it.” Her voice dropped to a hiss. “No more.”

  Naked or clothed, Sal was terrifying, especially this fast and this close, yet in the face of all that fury, I surprised myself by holding my ground.

  “That thing is at the bottom of Lake Erie,” I said. My left hand spasmed as the scar on that palm writhed like a serpent burrowing beneath the skin. Sal’s eyes locked on the motion. A chilling smile—nothing like her usual haughty affectation—played at the edges of her lips.

  “Is it, now?” she said, holding her face in front of mine, statue-still and creepy as fuck. She didn’t breathe. She didn’t blink. A chasm of centuries yawned in those pale, yellow eyes and I could practically see the wild ticking of gears in their depths. That feral smile, hungry and inhuman, widened in a flash. All at once, she was moving. She stalked around me in a winding circuit, the click of her heels measuring out their own creeping version of time.

  “I can’t say what I find more insulting, Zaquiel,” she intoned. “That you think I believed you the first time, or that you continue to sell me the same, sorry lie.” Like a wolf or a vulture, she continued to circle, the white expanse of her porcelain flesh no longer a distraction. All my focus narrowed to the tension that vibrated down the wiry muscle in her arms, the subtle flick of her gaze as she decided exactly when to pounce.