Sin City Daemon

by Rick Newberry

  “That’s just the thing, I have no idea.”

  “Then why did you go down the hill?” Nguyen says. “To fetch a pail of water?”

  “That’s up the hill,” Dixie scolds before turning to me with the same question.

  “A stupid thing to do, I know.” I hope my explanation makes sense to them because it still doesn’t to me. “But I’m the one who killed the Devil’s son. It’s my fault this is all happening. I didn’t want anybody else to pay for what I’d done. And I was ready to do anything I could—”

  “That’s so selfish,” Dixie says, jabbing me in the stomach and squeezing my shoulders. “You could have been killed. Nobody blames you for this, and it isn’t your fault—none of it is. Don’t you ever run off and try to fight a battle alone again, do you hear me?”

  Before I can say anything, Nguyen speaks up, “I believe you did the very same thing, did you not, Miss Mulholland?” She grins. “Ah, altruism, is it an unselfish devotion to others? Or merely another nasty little STD?”

  Cutty jumps into the fray. “You did the same thing, Nguyen, by coming back with all those katanas, so don’t start accusing—”

  “Now, listen here, little human—”

  “Everybody shut up,” Dixie yells. Her voice is raw, anxious, and final.

  In fact, her voice is so strained, I wonder if she’s okay. There’s no pain on her face—no expression at all. Her eyes are closed and she seems to be somewhere else, certainly not in the room with us.

  “Dixie,” Colonel Dayton says, “are you all right? Do you need to lie down?”

  “No, man.” Cutty patters toward her, whispering, “It’s that look, Colonel. You know, the look she gets when she’s talking to Major Ransom. Quiet, everybody, quiet.”

  Marco points at Nguyen. “Dixie’s not the only one.”

  Charlie Nguyen is silent, for once, her eyes shut tight. Both Dixie and Nguyen seem tuned to the same channel.

  Dixie opens her eyes. “I just spoke with Aunt Rose.”

  “That’s fantastic.” I lean into her, but she backs away.

  “Not really.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Charlie Nguyen steps forward. “We were both talking to Aunt Rose, and someone else. A kind of party line, wouldn’t you say?” She stares at Dixie with raised eyebrows. “Shall I tell them who?”

  “You’d better, I don’t think I can.”

  A frown spreads across Charlie Nguyen’s forehead. “Gorgeous. The good news is this confirms the bitch is finally dead. The bad news? She’s merely on the other side.” At last, Nguyen has what she always seemed to want, our full attention. She takes measured steps across the bedroom, stopping near the window.

  “Steel…Steel…Steel…Steel…” A chant grows outside. It picks up momentum and spreads through the house. My name courses through every room. They still think I’m a hero and the battle is over.

  “Listen to the celebrations outside,” Nguyen says over the sounds of the revelers. “How excited they all are.” She turns around and stares at me. “A great victory tonight, my four-footed friend, a great victory indeed. But didn’t you realize there’s a price to pay for such a triumph? Didn’t you ever wonder why—”

  “Oh cut the crap,” Dixie says. “It was all a sham. Adam didn’t know anything about it.”

  My heart races. “Didn’t know about what?”

  “More True Bloods are on their way. One hundred more.”

  “God help us all,” Cutty says.

  “His bloodlust is aroused,” Nguyen says in a whisper.

  Cutty is visibly shaking now. “Who’s bloodlust?”

  “Can’t you guess, my little gingerbread man?” Nguyen pats Cutty on top of the head, glances at her palm, and wipes it on her sleeve. “Satan.” She sits down on the edge of the bed and lets out a mournful sigh, her eyes staring straight ahead at nothing. “The Sangre di Real are loose upon the world and that is that.” Is a tear rolling down her cheek?

  Silence fills the room. I turn to Dixie. “Is that true? Did you speak with Gorgeous?”

  She nods.

  “Would somebody tell me what the hell’s going on?” Marco says, shouting over the celebrations outside.

  Nguyen yells, “Aunt Rose made an unholy alliance with that bitch, Gorgeous. Neither of them wants to see the world controlled by the Sangre di Real—for their own reasons, obviously. The message was clear: if we don’t do something, this is the end of days.”

  Cutty starts for the door.

  “No place is safe,” Nguyen says. “There’s nowhere to hide.”

  Marco steps to the center of the room. “But who’s behind all this? Gorgeous?”

  Dixie shakes her head, letting the name fall from her lips in a hopeless tone, “Lucas Knight.”

  “That two-bit magician?” Marco says. “What the hell does that son of a bitch have to do with any of this?”

  “He’s been behind it all along. Look,” Dixie explains, “Knight was sent here to protect Maxwell Sullivan, the Devil’s son, knowing there’d be hell to pay if anything happened to him—so he made sure it did. Remember that black light in the room tonight just before Sullivan died? Knight killed Sullivan and used Adam as a scapegoat. Soon, there’ll be so many Sangre di Real on earth we’ll all be put down: Daemons, wolfhounds, and humans. There’s no stopping them.”

  “We don’t have to stop them.” All eyes turn to me. “We only have to expose Knight.”

  Dixie’s eyes widen. “You’re right. If we can stop Knight, get him to tell the truth, maybe the True Bloods will be called back.”

  “Where can we find him?” Colonel Dayton asks.

  “Gorgeous said Knight wasn’t here at Claremont for the earlier attack. Gorgeous doesn’t think he’ll be here for the next one either.”

  “Why not?”

  “She said, for some reason, he’s keeping distance between himself and the battle. He’ll perform his second show tonight as usual.”

  Colonel Dayton asks, “How can we trust Gorgeous?”

  “Because she’s working with Aunt Rose. Besides, what choice do we have?”

  Marco shakes his head as he glances at his watch. “We’re out of time. Knight’s second show starts in just a few minutes, at ten o’clock. That gives us only enough time to choose our battle: Claremont, or Knight.”

  Hopelessness crawls across my skin. “We can’t abandon the wolfhounds.”

  Almost at once, two beams, yellow and silver, illuminate the room. The light is so intense I have to shield my eyes from it. When I can focus again, panic sets in.

  “Dixie and Nguyen are gone.” Marco does a quick scan of the room then throws open the door. I hear him shouting over the noise in the hallway, “Anybody seen Dixie?” He turns in the threshold and shakes his head. “They’re not here.”

  “Looks like they chose their battle,” Cutty says. “Lucas Knight.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Let’s go, we have to catch up to them.” I rush to the door. Detective Ramirez stands in my way, a human barrier. “C’mon, what are you doing? Let’s go after them.”

  “Calm down.” Colonel Dayton steps up and puts a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll never make it to The Strip in time. Dixie knows what she’s doing. I hate to admit it, but so does Nguyen. They’ll do their best to deal with our magician friend whilst we protect the wolfhounds.”

  “What do you mean they’ll do their best? If we leave right now—”

  “He’s right, man,” Cutty says. “Dixie and that psycho-Daemon can handle Knight. It’s two against one, right? Besides, we have a responsibility to the survivors. We can’t leave them here alone.”

  I close my eyes and breathe in slow and deep (borrowing a relaxation technique Dixie taught me). After another soothing breath, I nod. “What’s the plan?”

  Colonel Dayton pats me on the back. “We’ve got to make our way down the hill, but quietly. God forbid we start a panic and the packs scatter, possibly racing into harm’s way. I sugg
est we leave this room one by one. Of course, it’ll be more difficult for you, Adam—all eyes will be on you. You may have to stay here—”

  “No way. I’m not staying behind. I’ll find a way to meet you.”

  “Good. Remember, the katanas are in the backyard. Everybody grab one or two and a handful of lighters. We’ll meet up about a hundred meters down the hill where Claremont Road makes its first hairpin turn.”

  Detective Ramirez shakes my hand. He checks the clip in his gun. “I know bullets won’t stop those things, but they sure make me feel better.”

  He eases out the door and through the crowd in the hallway, followed by the colonel and Cutty. I wait a few seconds before leaving the bedroom.

  “There’s the man of the hour.” A silver-haired survivor smiles in my direction. “I couldn’t believe it when I first heard. They say you took down twelve super Daemons all by yourself?” The crowd grows around him in the hallway. He smiles as I edge my way toward the living room. “You’re one helluva wolfhound,” another survivor says. “Way to go, Steel.”

  The living room is just as crowded as the narrow hallway. “There he is. Can I get you anything? Hot dog? Water?”

  “No. I’m just gonna check out the basement.”

  Voices hush around me.

  “You don’t want to go down there,” the silver-haired survivor says. “Bad stuff down those steps. A few of the younger hounds went down earlier on a dare. C’mon, let me get you a plate of food.”

  Food is the most precious commodity at Claremont. Even though I’m not hungry, I can’t appear rude. “You’re too kind. I will have something to eat.”

  “Excellent, I’ll be right back.” The survivor turns toward the kitchen and makes his way through the crowded room. “Coming through, make way. Steel needs food.”

  After cracking open the door to the stairs leading to the basement, I put a finger to my lips, attempting to convince those around me they’re in on a harmless prank. Muted laughter rises from the crowd. “I’ll teach those pups to keep their tails out of the basement, be back in a few minutes.” With a mischievous grin, I turn to the stairs.

  The smell of pain and fear clings to the room; cruel memories of another time fill my head. The light is on and voices hush as I hit the bottom step.

  “Halt. Who goes there?” A playful voice says.

  “It’s just me.”

  Two survivors rush up and reach out their hands. “It’s Steel.”

  “I just wanted to take a look around down here.”

  The cages lining the back wall give me the shivers. The doors to the wire pens are open and a young girl struggles to free herself from one of them.

  “What are you doing in there?” I ask.

  “Just wanted to see what it was like,” she says as she stands up and brushes herself off. “Hey, you’re Steel.”

  “Yup. I used to live here.”

  “This is your house?” A survivor with bright green eyes says. “What’s with the cages?”

  “It’s a long story—bad memories.”

  “Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to cause you—”

  “No problem. Listen, do you think you hounds can do me a huge favor?”

  “A favor?” the girl says, her eyes widening. “For the man of the hour? Name it.”

  “I want to get out of here and be alone for a little while—”

  “Savor the glory?”

  “No, not quite. I just want to get some air and maybe have a run through the woods like I did back in the day.” I raise my eyes to the ceiling, acknowledging the noise of the festivities above us. “But they might think I’m ignoring them you know? I am, as you say, the man of the hour, after all.”

  “What do you want us to do?”

  “I know it’s a lot to ask, but if we all transformed and ran up the stairs as canines, I could make a break for it without being spotted. Safety in numbers, right?”

  The young wolfhounds glance at each other. “Right,” the girl says.

  Clothes are tossed to the floor along with strips of flesh. A couple of the survivors moan. They aren’t eating enough meat to transform without pain, and I feel terrible for having asked them. My change, on the other hand, is completed in a few seconds, free of any agony. I’ve eaten well, thanks to Aunt Rose.

  The transformations are complete, and my young conspirators wait for a signal. As soon as I bark, they all race up the stairs and through the crowded room of amused survivors.

  The front door is wide open and we sprint out into the night. I trot across the street and turn to the young pups. With a howl, I acknowledge their help in my great escape. They wag their tails and turn back to the house.

  I’m now free to join the others at the hairpin turn. Five against one hundred—the odds are definitely not in our favor. I wish I’d spent more time with Dixie and I miss Aunt Rose and I feel the wind on my fur and I curse the night.

  ****

  Whether the silver and yellow streaks of light were visible to the audience members seated in the Lucas Knight Theater didn’t concern Dixie when she arrived. She was too busy locating her main objective: Lucas Knight. Charlie Nguyen appeared by her side moments later and together they scanned the area.

  Dixie pointed out the magician standing center stage, his back to them. Only a thin black curtain separated them from Knight—the curtain serving as the backdrop for his show and concealing them from the audience.

  The magician’s voice boomed through the theater, prattling on about the differences between his illusions and all the others in a city of so many copycats. “What I do on this stage cannot be duplicated by anyone in the world.” He kept the audience engaged and laughing, a true entertainer.

  Dixie felt the presence of eight hundred human souls watching Knight. So far, nobody seemed aware of the two Daemon’s sudden arrival, and she hoped they wouldn’t be harmed by what was about to take place.

  You’re in grave danger, the voice of Major Jean Ransom shouted in Dixie’s head.

  Dixie ignored the major, trying to formulate a plan to take down Lucas Knight. She had no idea how to go about it, but one thing was certain: she wasn’t about to let this depraved Daemon destroy the world.

  Charlie Nguyen whispered, “Fear not, little Daemon, Charlie Nguyen has the perfect plan.” Nguyen seemed confident, exhibiting signs of why she was considered such a formidable opponent so many years ago. “While we were in transit, I devised a wonderful idea to end the life of this wretched soul.” She seemed proud of herself and wasted no time explaining the plan in detail: “I’ll have a katana ready. You draw him near, and I’ll slice and dice. You light him up, and I’ll stomp his bones. If we work quickly, he doesn’t stand a chance.”

  That is not a workable plan. Major Jean Ransom’s voice was urgent and to the point.

  Nguyen tuned into the conversation. You’re being a bit negative, don’t you think?

  I just don’t want either of you to join me here, on the other side, anytime too soon.

  Well, that’s gonna happen sooner or later. Dixie thought, whether you want it or not. Now, please, be quiet.

  Dixie faced Nguyen. “You make it sound so simple.”

  “Indeed. Now remember most True Bloods would rather use hands-on spells as their weapon of choice, so taunt him. Get him good and mad. Make him want to strangle you with his bare hands. That will draw him near and distract him so I can sneak up behind, undetected, and use the sword.”

  “Got it.”

  You don’t have the power to kill. Major Ransom said firmly, as if explaining to a three-year-old why the plan wouldn’t fly. You’re Daemons, and Daemon’s can’t kill.

  Dixie had no time for negative thoughts from the other side. She and Nguyen were in place behind the backdrop curtain and ready to attack.

  Nguyen manifested a katana and whispered, “Are you ready?”

  Dixie nodded while she caused a miniature ball of fire to materialize, keeping it aloft just over her left shoulder.

&nb
sp; Nguyen winked then did a double take. She frowned as she stared at Dixie. “Just curious. How are you going to get him angry? How are you going to insult him?”

  “Don’t know…never taunted anyone before.”

  “Give me a preview,” Nguyen whispered. “What exactly will you say?”

  “How about, ‘Hey, stupid idiot, get over here.’ “

  Charlie Nguyen winced and shook her head. “Change of plans, we’ll switch roles.” She edged Dixie out of the way, and handed over the sword. “Get ready.” She reached down and lifted the back stage curtain over her head. In a piercing voice, “Hey dumb shit, get the fuck over here, asshole.” Her voice echoed throughout the theater.

  Lucas Knight spun around, facing the Daemons behind him. “Where the hell did you come from?” He rushed toward Nguyen, his black robes flying as he ran.

  “Now, Dixie,” Charlie Nguyen said.

  Dixie swung the katana across Knight’s throat, lopping off his head. Blood gushed out and splattered on the stage. The audience gasped. With a quick swirling motion, she slit the magician’s stomach open. Intestines, kidneys, and lungs spattered to the floor. Nguyen grabbed the curtain and yanked it down, entangling Knight’s torso in the material. She motioned toward the fireball, sending it down onto his flailing body. Black flames leapt into the air, sparked for a moment, and died quickly. Nguyen jumped up and down on the charred remains and scattered the bones of Lucas Knight.

  The audience looked on in shocked silence. Cries and muffled moans swept through the theater in waves of disbelief. Two beefy security guards rushed toward Dixie and Nguyen as stagehands and performers ran for safety. Dixie easily immobilized both of the guards with a wave of her hands.

  She turned to Nguyen, her smile beaming. “We did it.”

  Nguyen’s face shined as she threw her arms around Dixie. They hugged near the smoldering corpse of the magician; the body that had been chopped, scooped, burned, and stomped.

  Murmurs rose from the audience. In short order, squeals and shouts grew into hoots and hollers. The crowd applauded, cheering in a joyous celebration.