The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance 2

by Trisha Telep

  Grinning, he left the seething woman to finish the fries.

  Two

  Cain felt trouble long before he caught the first whiff. Spawns, a lot of them. The night sky took on a more sombre quality, as if it was thick with activity he couldn’t see. But hear it he could. Hissing, growling, sucking sounds, the flap of wings and scrape of talons against concrete.

  Snow fell slowly, in small flakes that didn’t melt when they landed on Cain’s shoulders and coat sleeves. A twister of debris roiled along the sidewalk a few feet away. In front of him like a gargantuan sentinel, stood a tall and thick stone mansion surrounded with a high wrought-iron fence. He checked behind him, noted nothing above the rooftops except for the faraway silhouette of the Olympic Stadium, Montreal’s white elephant, and its inclined tower.

  Yet he could feel them. Growing closer. It hadn’t taken them long to sniff him out. Sometimes, he suspected spawns had nothing else to do than wait for a gate to open so they could swoop down on whatever came out.

  Movement exploded left, right, above. Snow flew in thick ribbons that lashed and whipped him like tiny grains of salt.

  “Here we go,” he snarled.

  Cain cocked his shotgun a second before the first spawn swooped down to his left, missed and hit the pavement a couple of inches in front of him, creating a tiny but messy crater. This surprised him. They rarely missed their aerial attacks. They were being careless, therefore desperate. They’d make mistakes. Bad news for them. Very good news for him.

  He pumped a quick pair of specialized maximum shredding rounds into the fiend. Each minced a wing and part of its torso and, on a long and angry hiss, the thing lay still. Others replaced it. They always did in his world of in-between – not on Earth, not in hell. Both at once, yet in neither place.

  One landed right on top of him, sent him to his knees, dug talons and claws into his back and shoulders. It wailed in his ear a split-second before he aimed the AA-12 straight up and fired. A shower of gooey bits fell around him and burned like acid wherever the stuff touched. The burn of its claws spread to his body. Hellish fever. Cain ran across the deserted street, fired as he went, rounds hitting targets and downing them, others ricocheting on bony ridges and creating scuffs against the stone fence. To mortal eyes, nothing would show, no sound would be heard.

  On a run, he leaped on top of the hood of his car, then on to the roof, where he whirled on himself and dispensed death at five rounds a second. One spawn thudded against the trunk, trashing and flailing. One of the wings caught Cain on the arm. His shotgun went sailing ten feet high and landed in the snow bank.

  “Shit,” he snarled. His breath was ripped out of his lungs when a spawn struck him with its wing. The talon lacerated his coat across the chest. Despite the adrenaline, he heard a button land on the frozen sidewalk.

  Cackling in delight, the spawn raised its misshapen, clawed hand. The final hit. This one would hurt. Cain only had time to pull his Luger out of its holster at his chest. Gold bullets with silver cores dipped in holy water. His best ones, usually reserved for full-fledged demons. Such a waste.

  He levelled it at the thing’s chest, fired just as both its wings spread for the coming attack. The shock sent it flying back in a geyser of embers and ashes, sent it colliding against a hydro pole. It bent with the violent collision. Sparks coursed along the wires.

  Burning pain exploded in his lower back.

  Cain looked down, more shocked than hurt, and spotted a long, glistening claw coming out of his belly.

  “Damn.”

  Dying meant a split second of suspension where he’d be catapulted back to hell, where no wound was too great to “heal”, then another split second to be sent right back up to the mortal plane as if nothing had happened. Where half a dozen spawns waited for him. The circus would never end. Not until he’d accumulated enough secrets for Berith’s taste. The demon had told him that some day, when Cain had brought enough secrets to sell for souls, he’d be sent up to the purgatory. Still in hell, but a world better than the seventh level.

  He aimed back and fired a bullet into the spawn that had backstabbed him. And then he died. Again.

  Ashes and smoke, the smell of sulphur and charred flesh, cries and lamentations, crimson sky, black sun, and abruptly, snow replaced it all. It grated against his face as Cain realized he’d come back facedown into the street, where a spawn stood over him, no doubt ready – and delighted – to send him back for another spin downstairs.

  “Oh, for Christ’s—”

  BOOM.

  The explosion drowned the spawn’s shriek just as a wave of energy traversed the air a couple inches above Cain’s head. Gunshot followed the detonation. A lot of gunshot. Someone had their finger on the trigger and wasn’t letting up. He floundered to his hands and knees, ashes choking him, still reeling from his short trip to hell, and turned in time to catch a scene that tore a curse from him.

  A lone woman stood in the middle of the street, blond hair in a punk cut, dressed in white vinyl from head to toe except for black military boots that reached up to her knees and an assortment of belts that crisscrossed her muscular frame. Bethany Simard, infamous keeper for one of the most powerful demons, Asmodeus, pain in the butt extraordinaire and probably Cain’s one and only weak spot.

  Great timing.

  He couldn’t help giving her a good, long look. Hot and dangerous.

  “I’m easy on the eyes, huh?” She cracked an irreverent grin. “Behind you, handsome.”

  Cain whirled around, thanked his lucky star he still had his gun. A gold and silver bullet took off half of the fiend’s head. The rest hit the fence, dissipated in glowing coals and ash.

  Movement registered in the corner of his eye. He turned back to the street. Bethany was gone. Mocking laughter, rapidly diminishing, floated to him from the other side of the fence.

  “Shit.”

  He took a moment to fish his silvery shotgun from the snow bank before chasing the woman over the fence. He knew exactly where she was going, and he intended to prevent it. Velvety silence greeted him once he landed on the other side of the fence. Cain circumvented the mansion, his heart thumping. Ahead into the gloom, he spotted a figure darting left and right amongst the skeletal bushes separating the mansion from its neighbour. He lengthened his paces, pumped his gun-free arm hard and fast. Cold air burned his lungs. From a tiny darting figure, the woman’s silhouette grew clearer. She’d reached the back porch. Bethany had always been fast. Thankfully, he was a tiny bit faster. Cain caught up to her just as she flipped back a sling strapped across her shoulder like a postman bag. A matte black MP5 submachine gun hung from the sling.

  He gripped it, yanked sideways and sent the woman crashing against the stone wall. With a yelp, she extended a hand, caught herself against the balustrade. Cain used his long arms to seize her by an arm, whirled her around and pinned her there with the barrel of his shotgun pressed against her wrist.

  “Hey!” She cocked her free arm to punch him, he caught that wrist, too. He knew her too well to let her have a free arm around him.

  They stood face to face, their breaths mixing in puffs of steam. He’d neutralized both her arms, but that meant he didn’t have one left either. Cain angled one foot back so she wouldn’t get any ideas to kick him.

  “That’s how you thank me?” Bethany twisted one arm then the other. “I thought you were one of the good ones.”

  Cain squeezed harder. Her neck tendons corded like violin strings as she struggled to free herself. He wouldn’t hold the diminutive Valkyrie in place for much longer. “Why are you here?”

  “Why are you here?” she snapped.

  He glared at her. “Don’t make me send you back, Bethany.”

  Black eyes heavily rimmed in kohl flared in fear a brief instant, then bravado replaced it. “You’re not like that.”

  “You’d be surprised. Your master sends you, or are you on one of your ‘goodwill’ hunts?” He’d had to answer to a very displeased Berith
once because of her. Demons didn’t like the idea that lowly keepers would do freelance hunts for others. Or that other keepers didn’t turn the renegades in.

  “It’s one of his.”

  “Well, you can go back, because this one is mine.”

  Bethany smiled, batted her eyelids dramatically. “Maybe we can share?”

  “And have Berith after my ass like the last time I ‘shared’ something with you? I don’t think so.”

  “Aw, come on, it wasn’t all bad.”

  It hadn’t been all bad. In fact, he’d enjoyed working with the cheeky woman. Even damned as she was, she still had a verve for life that he found very intriguing. And appealing. Plus, no one ever talked to him, not with his reputation and “charming” personality. Evangeline and Bethany were basically his entire social circle.

  “It was bad. You’re a pain in the ass.” The smudged mascara, crazy hair and attitude didn’t deter him at all. He suspected he found her attractive because of it and not in spite of it.

  “But oh-so-irresistible and brilliant. Come on, Cain, we got another kick at the can, we should make the most of it.” She gave him a pronounced once-over, actually winked in a very suggestive way. Simply unflappable.

  “I wouldn’t turn my back on you for a second, never mind taking my guns off.” A smile escaped him. “Plus, you’re not my type.”

  Liar.

  Bethany grinned. “I bet you’ve always been a heartbreaker, even before . . .”

  “Before I was damned?”

  She shrugged. “Call it what you want. I call it a second shot at life.”

  “It’s not life, Bethany. Not even close. We’re on borrowed time, with our own personal demons yanking on the leash.”

  She lost her smile. “Party-pooper.”

  “Look,” he began, regretting the words as they came out. She was his weak spot. Dammit. “Some day, maybe . . .”

  A sparkle made her dark eyes look like coffee beans. Smile lines appeared at the corners of her eyes and mouth. She arched her hips off the wall and pressed herself against him. Her heat seeped into his clothes. “Maybe what, hm? You’d like to see more of me?”

  “Yeah, I’d like to see ‘more’ of you.”

  Bethany’s eyes sparkled.

  Damn, he couldn’t think when she pulled that shit. “Look . . .”

  He must have relaxed his hold on her arm and saw his slip too late. The top of her head struck him on the chin. Pain exploded in his brain. His grip failed as he bent over.

  And she was gone again, her boots thumping madly.

  Cain stumbled into the house through the back door she’d left open. Careless, loud, obnoxious. He could’ve followed her progress from outside the house. Good old Bethany. Two by two, he took the stairs, followed her by the smell he’d come to associate with her – vinyl and body lotion. Up to the third floor, down a carpeted hallway lined with thick frames of dead people. Someone walked by – oblivious to the two gun-toting bounty hunters racing down the hall – as if moved by unseen hands into the place Cain had just occupied a split-second before. He’d always wondered what would happen if a mortal occupied the same space he did? Would they feel him?

  There, at the end of the hallway. Light filtered out from underneath a door. Cain gripped his shotgun tighter as he silently pushed against the panel. There she was, his “saviour”, bending over the dying politician, a wizened Asian woman. In the golden glow of a baroque lamp on the dresser, his competitor resembled an elf. But armed to the teeth. Bethany was too busy fishing around in a tiny leather purse strapped to her belt to pay much attention to him.

  Cain sneaked up just close enough to press the barrel against her nape. “Don’t make me send you back.”

  She froze.

  “Start running, Bethany. I’ll give you ten seconds head start.”

  “I need this,” she whispered, turned her head slightly so she could look up at him. Tears welled in her eyes. Her chin trembled. He’d never seen her that way, so vulnerable, so afraid. He’d never seen her afraid despite some pretty serious fighting and crappy odds. He could only imagine what a woman went through at the hands of a demon. “Okay? I need this, Cain. Please, I’m not yanking your chain.”

  Staring into those pleading eyes wasn’t as easy as he would’ve thought.

  “Asmodeus . . .” She stopped, swallowed. “He’s going to send me down another level if I don’t bring him this one. You know what that means . . .”

  Cain twitched in spite of himself. If Berith’s reputation for viciousness was well known in all levels of hell, another demon beat him by miles and bounds. Asmodeus, king of demons, with untold legions at his command. Cain wouldn’t want to be anywhere near the Tormenter if he’d failed to do his bidding. And being sent down another level was dying all over again. She’d have to start over. He could only imagine the horror. No wonder Bethany looked desperate.

  But it wasn’t any of his business. Or his problem.

  The woman straightened, slowly, turned to face him with her hands at shoulder level on either side of her. “What level are you on, Cain?”

  “Seventh.”

  She nodded. “So you have a temper, huh?”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Look, I’ll help you with something else. Anytime, anywhere. But please, let me have this one here.” She turned toward the older woman on the bed who lay with her eyes closed and a rosary tucked in her joined hands. Except for the ones his ammunitions contact made for him, he hadn’t seen a real rosary in over thirty years. Traditions were dying at an alarming rate.

  Cain shook his head. “And you think Berith will be happy to see me when I go back empty-handed?”

  “I have connections, you know I do. I’ll help you. I swear, okay? Name it.” She grinned wide. “Anything for you my cutie patootie.”

  “Don’t push it.” Cain cursed under his breath. “Anything?”

  Her gaze hardened. She lifted her chin defiantly. “Yeah, anything, even that.”

  He wasn’t thinking about that, but preferred to keep the dangerous woman on her toes. “You owe me.”

  Since when did he give breaks to people? Was he losing his edge? Would Berith keep him in hell instead of sending him back to the mortal plane for another job? Damn that woman!

  Bethany blew him a kiss, turned to the dying woman and pulled out a tiny black lacquered box when she noticed the telltale sign of the woman’s passing. She collected the secrets – a whole cluster of them, he was so in shit over this – slipped the box back into its home at her belt and backed to the door.

  “Would you have helped if it hadn’t been me?” she asked.

  “Why do you care?”

  “Is that a no?”

  “Just get the hell out. You owe me, Bethany. Big time.”

  She agreed with a nod. “In all the years we’ve known each other, you never once asked what level I’m on.”

  Cain sighed long and hard. This was turning out to be a very bad day. He hated bad days. They invariably ended with his butt in hell, being tortured and taunted then tossed back up. “I don’t give a shit.”

  “Yes you do. You’re just too proud to admit you care.” She winked. “I’m on the eighth.”

  Before Cain could process the implications, she was gone.

  The eighth level of hell was reserved for usurpers and swindlers. And liars.

  The one time he gave someone a break and this was what happened. That woman would be the end of him.

  “Bethany, you trouble-making little shit.”

  He took off after her. She was easy to follow if only because of the racket she caused. As if she didn’t care if he followed. Or maybe she didn’t mind.

  Winter air blasted him across the face when he burst out on to the back porch, ran along the fence and cleared the mansion corner just in time to catch Bethany leaping over the fence. While running, he aimed more or less in her direction and fired once. The shot clanged against the iron fence, busted the closing mechanism, and Cai
n only had to dip his shoulder as he ran into the opening.

  As Cain chased the little liar down Avenue Pierre de Coubertin, the air filled with the flap of wings. A leathery fap-fap-fap that presaged nothing good for either of them.

  “Give me the box!”

  He was out of time. She could disappear down below whenever she wanted. She just ignored him and kept on running.

  A city bus on its lonely night run temporarily obscured her when she crossed the wind-swept street. The stadium loomed in front. If she lost him in the maze of concrete ramps and walkways, he’d never find her again.

  Three silhouettes suddenly rose near the underground parking entrance. Cain only had time to mutter a curse when Bethany ran right past them. In her haste, she must not have spotted them. Bright muzzle flashes preceded the thunder of several firearms. With a yelp, the woman stumbled, managed to fire a shot before she crashed against the concrete ramp. Like vultures, the three attackers jumped from their perch to finish the job. By that time, Cain had silently caught up to them. Wind drowned what little noise he made as he crept up behind the trio of men.

  “Do not kill her yet,” said the man to the right, a tall fellow with a dark coat that reached the ground. His courtly speech pattern tickled Cain’s memory. “There is no reason to be hasty, is there?”

  Bethany used the ramp for support as she gingerly climbed back to her feet. “Guys, guys, it’s just a misunderstanding. We can work through this, right. Just hear me out.”

  Cain levelled his shotgun at their backs. He could have given them fair warning, a chance to step away and get lost. He might have felt a bit more lenient toward them if Bethany hadn’t already wasted what little goodwill he possessed. As it were, he’d already lost too much time. Plus, the kind of men who ganged up on a woman wouldn’t be missed if they suddenly exited the gene pool.

  He opened fire.

  Two collapsed right away, the air instantly filling with the smell of sulphur and the acrid taste of ash. He should’ve known. Keepers. They’d be back within seconds, “resurrected” by their demon masters, just like Berith had done for him earlier that night. Bethany nimbly jumped on the other side of the ramp.