Sin City Daemon

by Rick Newberry

  “Your Devil is dead. Imobili.” He waved his hand and Gorgeous became still, her eyes staring straight at Knight.

  She concentrated all her powers on him to no effect. Tangled in his trap, seized by his spell, she became nothing more than a silent witness to events as they unfolded.

  She glared at Nguyen as the Daemon soon fell out of the immobilization spell, raised her hands, and evaporated in a yellow mist.

  Knight grinned at Gorgeous. “Alone at last, as they say. Now then, Giant Irish Wolfhounds…really? And just how effective were those killer pups of yours? How many humans did they actually eliminate? One thousand—two perhaps? Far shy of the desired goal, give or take six billion. And your current plan…let’s see, what is it exactly? Ah yes, to possess the mind of the President of The United States, is that it? Brilliant, over the top, how creative. Then what? Make him push the little red button—start a nuclear war? Then what? Rule over the charred remains of a decimated planet?” He clucked his tongue. “Please. I’d say your tactics have missed the mark completely. The purpose is to regain dominion of the earth, not destroy it. This isn’t a game to us.”

  Us? Who are you talking about?

  “Come now, Gorgeous, certainly you know…you’re perplexed by my ability to kill. You can’t enter my mind, but I can easily enter yours. Use your thick head for once, if that’s possible. What type of Daemon is able to kill?”

  Gorgeous trembled as the thought gripped her mind and spilled out, Sangre di Real, but that isn’t possible. I tested you.

  “Oh, you mean this?” Knight struck a pose and cowered, a frightened expression covering his face. “Please don’t hurt me, my queen. I’ll do anything you say.”

  Gorgeous narrowed her eyes. The True Bloods were eradicated—

  “Enslaved. However, now, thanks to you, everything is different. It seems one of your preposterous schemes actually worked.”

  Thanks to me? The Sangre di Real are locked in Hell forever.

  “Forever’s overrated. You see, once you secured Maxwell to help with your ridiculous scheme, I was released to watch over him. I failed. Oh well, too bad, so sad. And who do you think will be blamed for junior’s demise? The very dog you created killed him. With Maxwell gone, no one’s got your back.”

  He will never let you get away with this.

  “He? You mean The Big Guy? He’s as fed up with the human race as we are. C’mon Gorgeous, it’s time to broaden your thinking; it’s not just about good and evil anymore, or black and white for that matter.” He laughed. “It’s all dark, now. The humans have made a mess of everything, and now it’s up to me to clean it up. The time has come to put an end to talking dogs and demented Daemons with foolish plans.” Knight snaked toward her.

  She used all her strength to raise an arm and screamed, “Imobili.”

  Lucas continued his steady advance. “Nice try, but you’ll have to do better than that. I must admit, it bothers me to kill a Daemon, especially one as pretty as you. It bothers me, but it won’t stop me.”

  A low moan crawled from her mouth.

  Knight grinned. “Now if you’ll excuse me,” he turned toward the door, “I must run across the hall and grab the scoop from that noisy ice machine.”

  Gorgeous forced a muffled cry through her paralyzed throat.

  “Yes, I agree, it will be quite slow and very painful—a dull guillotine—but it’ll be perfect for scooping you out.” He patted his pockets. “By the way, do you have a light?”

  ****

  The Mystic placed a hand over his cup of tea, wafting the steam of the Da Hong Pao as it steeped. Da Hong Pao: the most expensive tea in the world.

  A frown played across his brow. The front page of the Las Vegas Review-Journal lay on the table next to his breakfast of dove’s eggs and slices of pule cheese. Pule: the most expensive cheese in the world.

  He glanced at the headline again, this time running his fingers over each word, connecting to the print. Nation Mourns Passing of First Lady

  The Mystic hung his head. The most expensive first lady in the world.

  The president is out of harm’s way.

  He sipped the tea and closed his eyes. Despite The Sterling Management Group’s attempt to provide him with nothing but the finest, The Mystic would just as well have preferred a hot cup of Joe and some ham. They meant well, of course, as if exceeding his materialistic wants would somehow satisfy his otherworldly needs.

  He lifted a small silver bell from the glass table and waggled it back and forth. Almost at once, the door opened and a young woman, dressed in shimmering turquoise robes, stepped into the chamber. She took a few paces then stopped several feet from The Mystic. She kept her gaze low, on the ground, as she, and all the members of the staff, had been instructed: no eye contact whatsoever with The Mystic.

  “Sir,” she said with a slight bow.

  “I’d like some scrambled eggs, please, with ketchup, and bacon, white toast, and a cup of coffee. Thank you.”

  “As you wish.” She bowed again.

  “Oh, and not dove’s eggs, or duck’s eggs, or swan’s—just regular chicken eggs. And get the coffee from the shop downstairs—latte, plain, extra hot. Thank you.”

  “As you wish.”

  “Oh, and when President Walker calls, please extend my condolences.”

  “His people have already telephoned several times. He wishes you to call him back at your earliest possible—”

  “Thank you, Ayala. That will be all.”

  She bowed and shut the door behind her.

  The sound of the water trickling down the massive glass wall set him at ease. He closed his eyes, clearing his mind of any thoughts. A blank slate welcoming random visions.

  With his mind cleared, he eased back in the chair and chanted: ohmmmm. Almost at once, scenes of chaos filled his thoughts: humanity struggled for food, for water, for air—the planet itself nothing more than charred rubble.

  The Mystic sat up and opened his eyes. He’d seen this vision before, many times. “Images of things yet to come or that which has already been? The Dark Ages or the New Age?”

  He stood and wandered about the chamber, running a finger along the glass wall, feeling the cool water dribble over his hand. The vision unsettled him, a specter of great suffering.

  He strolled back to the table and rang the tiny bell again. The door opened immediately.

  “I wish to go out, Ayala.”

  “I will summon your staff at once.”

  “No, I want to go out alone—like before.”

  Ayala hesitated then closed the door to his chamber. Her words sounded cautious as she raised her head and stared at him. “But what about your breakfast?”

  “I didn’t cause any harm to the president’s wife, you know. It was just a vision—a half vision really—nothing more.”

  “I know that, sir.”

  How could she? For her to guess her true purpose in his life could never happen. On this side, Ayala was merely a member of his staff. No, for her to have any knowledge of the other side was impossible.

  “I’m ready to go, come on, hurry up.” The Mystic pulled his robes over his head and stood naked before her. “It’s cold in here.”

  Ayala pulled her turquoise robes off and held them out to The Mystic. They exchanged garments. Even though The Mystic and Ayala differed in age, they were the same height and similar build. The flowing robes concealed much.

  “Relax child. If anyone should come in—oh, you know what to do.” He kissed her on the cheek and settled her into his armchair facing the glass wall. “I’ll be back soon.”

  Ayala bowed her head. The Mystic flipped the turquoise hood over his head and reached for the door latch.

  “Please hurry,” she said.

  He imitated her voice with perfect pitch and tone, “As you wish, sir.”

  The Mystic knew the way out and gave a slight nod of his head as he passed Walter and Fabian guarding his chamber. They paid little attention to him. Their jo
b was to prevent entry by unknown visitors, not exit by well-known staff.

  The Mystic pressed on, reaching the elevator at the end of the darkened hallway in no time. The doors slid open and he stepped inside, pressing the down button as he turned to face the closing doors. Light instrumental music drifted from the speakers in the car. He recognized the song as “Solitary Man” by Neil Diamond. He absent-mindedly hummed along with the tune.

  The doors slid open, and he fell silent. Another hallway greeted him, this one brightly lit and filled with people zipping by in both directions. A security guard moved aside and turned to him. “Hello, Ayala.”

  He nodded, stepped off the elevator, and ambled toward the chaos of the casino. Crowds of people elbowed their way past him in all directions. At first, it came as a welcome change from the solitude of his private chambers, but soon grated his nerves.

  He spied the bank of revolving doors leading to Las Vegas Boulevard and strode toward them through a maze of slot machines, gaming tables, and mini bars.

  The Mystic exited the casino, feeling the full weight of the desert heat press down on him. The sun blinded him momentarily, even with the hood over his head. He stood still for a while, acclimating to this alien environment. His gaze wandered up, examining the obelisk announcing his presence to the world. He’d never seen the object in person before—quite impressive.

  When he looked back down, a small woman stood in front of him—graying hair wrapped up in a bun, wire-rim glasses, and sharp green eyes. She held her ground, hands on her hips and scowl on her face.

  “What are you playing at, young man?” Aunt Rose said.

  The massive crowds of people hurrying back and forth had vanished. No sound, no movement—just the desert breeze rustling through palm trees, a ghost town.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  It’s a mad dash to leave the suite at The Wynn. The hotel corridors are nearly empty at this time of night; most people busy gambling, eating, or touring The Strip. On the way down in the elevator, I wonder how to tell Dixie about Aunt Rose. The words will devastate her.

  My eye has closed up where I got punched and it’s tender to the touch, but I know, given enough time, I’ll heal. I don’t know if I can say the same about Dixie.

  We scramble through the casino, zigzagging our way around hundreds of tourists on our way to the exit. Dixie keeps lagging behind, and I have to put my arm around her to move her along. I stop right here in the middle of all the chaos and hold her, tell her everything’s going to be okay. I’ve never comforted anyone who’s lost someone they love before.

  Cutty meets us at the hotel entrance with the car, and we clamber in. Dixie and I sit in the backseat alongside Colonel Dayton. Marco rides shotgun. We race onto Las Vegas Boulevard and head north toward the Stratosphere.

  I don’t know the right words to use, so I just tell her outright: Aunt Rose is dead. Dixie sobs, big gasping howls, and buries her head in my chest.

  “I know,” she whispers.

  I slip my arms around her as she cries. Tears run down my cheeks as well.

  “I’m so sorry,” Marco says.

  She stares into my eyes. “Major Ransom told me everything. How Aunt Rose tried to protect me. How she fought to keep me safe.”

  “Pull over.” Colonel Dayton taps Cutty on the shoulder. Cutty turns into an empty parking lot for The Sanctuary of The Desert Wedding Chapel, “Drive-Through Weddings our Specialty.” He parks, kills the engine, and swivels around to face us.

  “I know this is a painful time,” Colonel Dayton says, “and I’m truly sorry for your loss.” He shakes his head and takes a deep breath. “But the fact remains, we need to know exactly what is happening. Can you tell us everything Major Ransom said? Please. Charlie Nguyen is out of her mind with fear. She’s certain Gorgeous is out to kill her. Correct me if I’m wrong but, I thought Daemons were forbidden to kill—”

  “Nguyen’s got nothing to worry about, Gorgeous is dead as well.” Dixie wipes her eyes and straightens up. In a small voice, she continues, “The murders at Claremont were just a diversion to keep us busy. Gorgeous had all of us so wrapped up in helping the wolfhounds, we didn’t focus on her real plan. I guess that doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “Of course it matters,” I say. “Aunt Rose was an incredible woman. She knew the danger at Claremont, and she did everything in her power to keep all of us safe. What wouldn’t have mattered is if she knew it was a diversion and didn’t do anything about it. Lives were lost, with more to come, and she was determined to put an end to it. She was unbelievably brave, and I’m so proud to have known her—we all are.”

  Dixie squeezes my hand. “Thank you.”

  I’m not finished. “Aunt Rose spent her whole life fighting evil. She knew the risks, but she never gave up. We need to remember who she was and honor that by keeping her in our hearts. We need to continue the fight. Death isn’t the end. Major Ransom proved that. Aunt Rose will always be a part of our lives.”

  Dixie nods. There’s a spark of hope in her eyes—she knows I’m right, as if Major Ransom confirms my words. She lays her head on my shoulder. “I know she’s not really gone. She’s just out of reach right now, on the other side.”

  Colonel Dayton breaks the clumsy silence growing in the car. “I know how you feel. It takes time, that’s all. Aunt Rose will find a way to communicate. You’ll see. Have you asked Major Ransom if she’s heard from her?”

  “She hasn’t.”

  “Maybe she’s stuck at the terminal or something,” Cutty says. “You know, like her paperwork got all messed up. I saw this movie once where—”

  Marco clears his throat. “The colonel’s right, sweetheart. If anyone can find a way to communicate with you, Aunt Rose will.” He looks out the window at the tourists traipsing up and down the boulevard. “But right now we have to find out if Gorgeous’s plans died with her. I won’t have another Convergence in this city. Does Major Ransom know anything?”

  Dixie sniffles and leans forward, her hand resting on Marco’s arm. “Gorgeous planned something bigger than The Convergence. She worked with a man named Maxwell Sullivan, the Devil’s son.”

  “The Devil?” Cutty shouts out, “Like, the real Devil?”

  Dixie ignores Cutty’s panic. “Daemons can’t kill outright, like you said, Colonel. She had Sullivan do that for her. He shot the wolfhounds, trying to make it look like humans were responsible. But, according to Major Ransom, that was just a diversion to keep us out of her way. It had nothing to do with her real plan.”

  “And what was that?” Marco asks.

  Dixie shakes her head.

  Marco presses on. “Why did Gorgeous attack Aunt Rose?”

  After a measured breath, she said, “A crime of opportunity. Gorgeous happened to accompany Sullivan to Claremont tonight. Sullivan killed Aunt Rose by her order.” She scrunches her eyes for a moment, then straightens and speaks with renewed strength. “Major Ransom says everything has changed now because the Devil’s son is dead.”

  Cutty attempts a smile. “But that’s a good thing, right?”

  “No, not a good thing at all. The Devil wants revenge. The Gates of Hell will soon open—something evil is coming.”

  “Man, what does that even mean?” Cutty’s eyes bulge.

  “The end times are here. True Blood Daemons will soon arrive.”

  “Holy shit, man.” Cutty turns the key and the engine sparks to life. “Then let’s get the hell out of here.”

  “Wait,” Colonel Dayton barks.

  But it’s too late. Cutty peels out of the parking lot. “No way in hell can we fight something like that, right? I mean, it woulda been tough enough to take Gorgeous down and now we got who-knows-what coming after us. I’m headed for Claremont to get Tina then we gotta get the heck outta Dodge.”

  Colonel Dayton shouts, “Stand down, Paul. That’s an order.” Cutty jams on the brakes and pulls to the side of the road. The colonel continues in a calm voice, “Listen to me. Like it or not, it
’s up to us to eliminate this new threat to humanity without any further help from Aunt Rose. I’m sorry to be so blunt, Dixie. You’re being incredibly brave, but it’s time to face this one fact: from now on, we’re on our own.”

  “We’re not alone in this,” Dixie says. “We’ve got Major Ransom and Charlie Nguyen.”

  “Oh man,” Cutty says. “Major Ransom’s cool and all, but she’s just a voice inside your head. I mean, she’s not really here. And Nguyen? Man, that psycho is probably halfway to Bangkok by now. We need real help.”

  “Like the wolfhounds,” I say.

  Colonel Dayton beams. “That’s the spirit. With Major Ransom giving us eyes in the sky and the wolfhounds providing the muscle, we can take down a small division of Daemons.”

  “Are you serious?” Marco Ramirez says. “From what Dixie described, we won’t face your normal run-of-the-mill Daemon. These are Daemons from Hell.”

  All gazes rest on Dixie now, hoping for any glimmer of good news she can give us. She leans back into me as she answers, “It’s true, they’re not typical Daemons. Their formal name is Sangre di Real: the True Blood. Legend has it, they’re the original Daemons, and they have the ability to kill. They can also block their thoughts and are impervious to ordinary spells.”

  “How do you know so much about them?” I ask.

  “From The Sufferings, and from what Major Ransom just told me.”

  “You said these super Daemons were all locked away in Hell, right?” Cutty says, a ray of hope in his voice.

  Dixie nods. “The Devil has the only key. Apparently, he released one of them weeks ago to watch over his son, Maxwell Sullivan.” She turns to me. “And you killed Sullivan tonight.”

  I rub a hand over my closed eye. It burns. “But there wasn’t anybody protecting him. Maybe these True Bloods aren’t as powerful as everyone thinks.”

  “Or maybe…” Dixie straightens up. “From what Major Ransom told me, Sullivan’s death pissed the Devil off to no end. Maybe this was the plan all along, and we played right into it.”

  I can’t help but ask, “Whose plan? Gorgeous is dead.”